


The Hunter and the Nightingale

by TheImperfectionista



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Dark, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Procedures, Sexual Content, The Mourning Madam's Once Upon A Time Dramione Fairy Tale Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista
Summary: After the Second Wizarding World War, defected Death Eaters were allowed to repent for their crimes as fugitive hunters of remaining Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy took up the role, but the toll on his body has led him to seek the anonymous healer known as the Nightingale.For MourningMadam's Once Upon A Time Fairytale Fest.Prompt: Hans Christian Anderson's fairytale, The Nightingale.http://childhoodreading.com/the-nightingale/





	1. To Find A Nightingale

It has been two turbulent years since the Second Wizarding War. Voldemort, the Dark Lord died at the hands of the Boy Who Lived and the world thanked him for his sacrifice. Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathisers either turned each other in or scattered like cockroaches, seeking dark crevices to hide. Those who sought repentance could serve as Ministry fugitive hunters, to track and capture the elusive criminals they once called their peers.

Britain and Europe had made attempts to rebuild their magical societies. Hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards can live and work safely without fear of their blood statuses. However hard the Ministries tried though, money and work became scarce. Homeless and weary witches and wizards were often found wandering through Diagon Alley, begging from shop to shop. For food, money or work. The fortunate visitors of the district kept their gaze down or would drop a sympathetic knut into a grubby pleading hand. 

Amongst the throngs on the streets worked a healer, who shared her talents with the sick and homeless. She cared for the unwashed and the hungry with the same loving kindness as she did for her private patients at St Mungo's. Even the busy shopkeepers, who had plenty of other things to do, stood to watch and extoll her virtues.

“Merlin, how wonderful she is!” An owl keeper said.

“Merlin bless this witch! For she has cured my Dragon Pox.” A teary vagabond cried.

So loved and admired on the streets, the witches and wizards called her The Nightingale. For she was as powerful and kind as the famous nurse of years gone by.

* * *

Far away from the meandering filth of Diagon Alley, in the heart of the Wiltshire greens stood Malfoy Manor. It was, without any doubt, the most beautiful estate in the country. It was made of fine sandstone that glimmered gold in the sunset. There were delicate white peacocks that sauntered through the magical gardens. The rarest and most exquisite flowers, known only to keen herbologists flourished on the grounds. The finest of all the flowers were enchanted to ring silver bells hung around them. So that one could not pass without looking at them.

The elaborate iron-wrought gate to the grand Manor twisted and contorted to allow a young man of platinum blond hair to pass. His face was distinct with eyes that glinted as hardened steel, hard enough to pierce another’s soul. But those eyes never twinkled with joy, for he had seen too much darkness in his youth. 

His usual easy stride was hindered by a limp, his fine robes were sooted with grime and dirt. An amethyst bruise covered the right side of his jaw. Any onlooker could see the golden Master of the Manor had yet another skirmish with Death himself.

“Draco, my son.” An elegant woman of fair hair greeted him at the front door of his home. Narcissa Malfoy held her only son firmly, her heart cracked and aching at his dishevelled appearance.

“Mother, I am in need of a bath and some Dittany.” Gently prising himself from her loving arms, worried to get dirt on her sophisticated robes.

“Of course, I’ll send some to your rooms now.” The Master thanked her as he climbed the grand staircase of marble.

“My darling, before I forget. Your friends will arrive in about an hour.” He hid his displeasure and nodded with understanding.

Once bathed, soothed with salves and potions. The blond wizard donned clean clothes before he journeyed to the evening sitting room, one of many rooms the Malfoys used to entertain their guests. Within the room, underneath a glittering chandelier sat a group of young men like himself, Pureblooded and former Slytherins from Hogwarts.

“Good evening boys.” The Master of the Manor said. He poured a glass of fairie wine, which is the finest wines in the land. 

“Why Theo. It’s good to see you. We thought death had taken you after your last mission.”

The fellow fugitive hunter, Theo Nott was a chestnut-haired young man with rabbit-like features. He wore an eyepatch which leant him a jaunty look.

“I would have been cradled by death’s bosom, was it not by luck that I was healed by the Nightingale.” The room of Slytherins stared in puzzlement.

“Who is the Nightingale?”

“Her identity is a secret. For she wears a grey drab cloak over her face. Her presence on the streets can stir even the most hopeless men to rise with optimism. Her healing abilities isn’t limited to spells and potions but she incorporates muggle healing practices that allow a wizard on the brink of life to return to his full vitality.”

Curious as ever, Draco Malfoy wanted to know more about the mysterious healer.

“Where did you find her?”

“I didn’t, she found me.” Theo replied, much to Draco’s surprise. “I collapsed in the gutter, waiting for eternal sleep. My wounds were deep and I would not have been able to survive, had she not appeared by my side. She transported me to her clinic while I lay unconscious. There she treated my injuries and prescribed a healing program for my pre-existing health problems.” 

Fascinated by such a talented healer, the Master of the Manor reminded himself to seek her out. For he too has sustained ongoing injuries from his work as a Death Eater hunter. Right now the men in the room drank heavily, smoked their pipes and bragged of their triumphs – fugitives and women – until the oil lamps burned brightly and the stars twinkle in the night sky.

Long after the owls have flown and hunted. Only the moon remained awake to sing its waning song, did Draco went to sleep. His head swirled with drunkenness and lips murmured incoherent utterances. The early morning had long past, many hours after rosy-cheeked dawn had drawn her chariot across the sky, and forward marched linear time. The beautiful and troubled master slept on in disturbed sleep.

* * *

It was late afternoon, when Draco Malfoy finally ventured from the golden Manor to the jungle of St Mungo’s hospital. Despite the patients’ need for tranquillity to heal their ailing bodies, St Mungo’s was a cacophony of frantic healers, mumbling cleaners and caterers. A chorus of patients’ wails, beeps and sirens from healing machinery; a far cry from the paradise of the Manor’s gardens.

“Wiggenweld wanted now!”

“Take a deep breath in and out.”

“You’ll be fixed up in a jiffy.”

The voices echoed from the wards and down the corridor towards Draco. A cloying smell of potion fumes, cleaning substances and sickliness clung to his being that brought the urge to wretch. 

“Can I help you, Sir?” His steel-hardened eyes stared down at the inquisitive receptionist at her desk. 

“I’m here for the healer they call The Nightingale.” He commanded.

“I’m sorry but there’s no Healer Nightingale here.” She replied in puzzlement.

“You are the only magical hospital in the country,” Draco complained. “Surely the famous healer known as The Nightingale is under employment here.”

The receptionist shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Sir, I do not know who you are referring to.”

The platinum blond man stood to his full height, sneering down at the lowly-paid employee of the hospital.

“Find me the nearest available healer then.”

At his command, the terrified employee leapt from behind her desk and hurried down the corridor into the labyrinth of the hospital. The impatient blond visitor waited as the deafening chorus of hospital noises enveloped him. His left wrist twinged with pain from a hard fall he’d taken, just last week. He can’t run like he used to, for his knees may burn in agony with each step. The scattering of scars across his body flares from time to time, each like a bloom of stinging nettles all over him. But worst of all, there was the issue of the uncomfortable pain deeply embedded in his chest. 

Eventually, the more flustered receptionist returned to her desk, panting out of breath.

“You need to go down this corridor, turn right after the Capricorn Ward, climb up the stairs to the first floor. Then immediately turn left, past the Jupiter Ward, the Callisto Wardm, and the Europa ward. The office will be on your right with the olive door.” She uttered all in one raspy breath. Draco didn’t bother to thank her as he walked away with purpose.

And so he went down the corridor, where he sidestepped the cleaners mopping. He turned right after the Capricorn ward, and avoided contact with a patient who had escaped the Janet Thickey ward. He rapted the office with the olive door and strode in without waiting for a response. 

The small box room of an office was solely occupied by an individual. Her white healer robes were clean but crinkled. She sat at a desk, which strained under mountains of books and hills of parchment scrolls. Her ink-stained right hand scratched words with mechanical precision using a worn down quill. The feathered tip was as bald as the plucked bird it came from. The healer’s mottled brown hair was held back with a thick band into a bushy tail.

Draco was most struck by the healer’s face, her features were more delicate than he remembered. Thick brows were crossed in a concentrated frown. She finished her sentence before turning to greet him, with the air of someone who’s reluctant about being interrupted.

“How can I help you today Malfoy?” An ink-stained hand gestured for him to sit at the medical table which occupied most of the room.

“Granger. I didn’t realise you are a healer.” He stated as he sat on the sterilised table.

“It’s because it’s of no concern to you.” She replied as she stood in front of him. Their eyes level, he noted how her brown ones studied him with curiosity. 

“Well, I’m looking for the healer called the Nightingale. Do you know who she is?” He said frankly, knowing Granger wasn’t a woman who tolerated lies.

“Why are you looking for her? I hear she only treats the poor and the destitute. From your appearance, you look like neither.” Her tone was harsh and suspicious.

“In my line of work, I have suffered from several health complications.” He explained delicately.

“What kind of work do you do? I assume you don’t do it for money.” Granger quipped, her tongue was as sharp and mind as inquisitive as he remembered.

“I’m a fugitive hunter for wanted Death Eaters. So you can imagine, I can get into a fair amount of skirmishes.”

The witch before him pursed her lips in thought and Draco wondered if she wore lipstick for their rosy colour. Finally, she spoke after a moment of contemplation.

“I can’t help you find The Nightingale. However, I will offer to treat you as my patient.” She offered kindly, but it wasn’t the offer Draco wanted to receive. He stood to leave and glanced down at her puzzled face.

“Thank you for your offer, but I’ll take my search elsewhere.” Without another word, he stepped out of the cramped box office and left behind the hospital. He found his way out of the labyrinth of wards and sickness, into the open air. Leaving the hospital, he began to plan how he could use his hunting skills to find The Nightingale.

* * *

The moon hid behind the clouds of onyx and she dared not show her face in Knockturn Alley. Only a few windows glowed with a faint tint of burnished amber. The crooked street contorted and gave little room for idle pedestrians. The blond hunter knew his path well and didn’t require additional light as he darted from shadow to shadow. 

He concealed his gleaning platinum hair under a hooded cloak and wore a mask to not draw notice to his bright steel-hardened eyes. At first sight there appeared to be a pile of rags discarded between old broken barrels, but upon closer inspection, the rags were a lowly beggar. His age was unidentifiable due to the wrinkled grime upon his face, and his mouth was lined with jagged coal coloured molars. Draco knelt down to this beggar, close enough to whisper into his ear and to be overwhelmed by the vagabond’s stench.

“What do you want this time?” The voice was raspier than a forest in a storm.

“Information on the Nightingale.” Draco whispered.

The beggar gave a spluttering laughing cough. “She should be of no concern of yours.” 

The golden hunter produced a shimmering sickle and presented it in front of a pair of dark glassy eyes.

“I want to know who she heals and how does she find them.”

The beggar longingly gazed at the pristine silver coin and shook his head furiously, as if to shake himself out of his reverie.

“I cannot betray her! She has saved my life before and gave me nourishment after a heartless monster mocked, spat, and hexed me while his breath reeked of beer and his face flushed with drunkenness. His friends laughed at his torture of me. Then in a flash, she stunned the vile wizard and brought me to her clinic.” 

The golden hunter tucked away the silver sickle which proved unconvincing in its persuasion, only to replace it before the beggar’s face a glimmering galleon.

“I’m not going to hurt her. I just need to speak to her.” 

Those glassy eyes could no longer stray from temptation and sooted, twig-like fingers, snatched at the golden galleon. The beggar placed it between his rotted teeth and bit hard to check its authenticity. The beggar coughed as he clutched his new, and only, possession.

“She won’t come to you dressed as the fine toff you are now. She will only approach the very destitute or if you were in grave danger on these very streets. It’s hard to know what time she patrols for new patients. Sometimes in the darkest of nights and other times under the glaring high sun.”

The blond nodded, having all the information he required. In a swift motion, he struck the grime-covered man on the head and caught him before his dirty face was broken on the jutting pavings. The glimmering galleon rolled in an attempted escape from its new owner and Draco carefully tucked it away amongst the folds of the beggar’s pockets. With a grimace, the hunter wrenched a handful of greasy, crinkled hair from the beggar’s thinning scalp and left him completely unaware and unconscious. 

* * *

The drizzling rain pelted down upon him as Draco sat in a crevice between two shops in Diagon Alley. The wetness seeped through the rags he procured, his dirtied up skin, and into his very bones. He allowed himself to visibly shiver and shake to stay warm, as well as enhance the pitiful sight of himself. Occasionally, the golden hunter sipped at the mud-like polyjuice potion, kept wrapped up in old strips of cloth, gagging each time. All his joints in this unfamiliar body ached, his legs suffered from pins and needles, caused by the crouched position in which he sat.

It had been a few hours since he arrived that morning. From time to time he would beg passing walkers for a spare knut. They offered half-hearted muffled apologies before shuffling away or ignoring him as if an invisibility cloak covered him completely. A limping hag approached him with a filthy cup, filled with water. He swore and shouted at her until she scuttled away in terror. News would travel fast that this particular vagabond was to be left well alone.

Mid-day welcomed the luncheon crowd as throngs of workers and shopkeepers congregated at the Leaky Cauldron or the small food stalls that opened on Diagon Alley to feed the hungry masses. Wafts of wholesome soups, sizzling sausages and piping hot pies floated on the air with the calls from the vendors. 

“Freshly made sandwiches! Homemade lemonade!” 

“Eight knuts for the lunch deal! Hurry before they’re gone!”

“Best pies in all of London! Grab them while they’re hot!”

The sounds of hawkers, the perfumed smells of sumptuous warm food, and the sight of workers laden with boxes of their lunch had caused an uproar of protests in Draco’s stomach. The disguised hunter watched the comings and goings of people with an attentive eye. Amongst the crowd of preoccupied shoppers and busy shopkeepers, perhaps the Nightingale would patrol the streets.

A sympathetic soul dropped a paper bag in his lap, inside was a hastily wrapped but comfortingly warm sausage roll. The generous donor didn’t hang about as Draco coughed a raspy thanks to him and devoured the food in quick bites. The crackle of the layered pastry and the tender salty filling placated his protesting stomach with satisfying nourishment.

Eventually, the clouds of drizzle parted to reveal the sun making its journey home, casting a warm orange-purple hue over the wizarding street. Shopkeepers started to usher out their last customers and locked their doors for the night. Workers headed down to Leaky Cauldron, for a cheeky pint or ready to put their feet up at home. Draco found some fresh dry cardboard nearby and lined the floor of his location. It would insulate him from the cold damp pavement for the long night ahead of him. He stuffed discarded Daily Prophet pages between his cold skin and damp rags to warm himself. His stomach complained vocally now that the sausage roll had been digested so many hours ago. 

Very few people were left around Diagon Alley. An elderly witch hobbled down to Leaky Cauldron, her robes were covered in cats’ hair and she had a fluffy white kitten perched on her hunched shoulders. A group of Ministry employees, still wearing their badges walked past. They chatted and gossiped whilst idly making their way to a restaurant further down. 

A vagabond begged the group for some spare change and a few knuts were dropped into his grateful hands. A homeless witch with holes in her shoes, pulled out a sleeping bag, a few sheets of cardboard and a thick woollen hat from a small drawstring bag she carried and made camp in an alcove near Flourish & Blotts.

A pebble rolled towards Draco, knocking into his foot, catching his attention and causing him to lookup. A wizard in his autumnal years glared down at him whilst walking in his direction. His robes were of pristine moss velvet, his features were stern. The wizard was smoking a pipe and just as he passed by, dumped the hot ashes into the disguised hunter’s lap.

“Fucking Twat!” Draco cursed loudly at the man as he quickly brushed burning ashes off himself.

The man whipped around, his nostrils flared in anger growling,“What did you say to me?” 

“I said,” wrapping his hand around his concealed wand. “FUCKING TWAT!” Every enunciated word echoed down the alley. The homeless witch huddled in her sleeping bag nearby turned towards them to watch the spectacle. Draco was ready to protect himself as the man strode towards him with his wand raised.

“You little scumbag hobo!” 

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Invisible ropes bound the man suddenly and he dropped flat on his face. The disguised hunter was confused. Who cast that spell?

A figure appeared from the shadows, their identity completely hidden by a grey hooded cloak. The Nightingale! She stepped towards the bound man whose face was planted into the dirt of the cobbled street.

“That should teach you a lesson.” Her voice was melodic but firm. Draco recognised the tone, the cadence, that special quality in her voice, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on where he had heard it before. She healed the fallen wizard’s bleeding face and expulsed him far down the alley towards the Leaky Cauldron. 

Draco released his wand and thumbed a small gem-like object in his pocket as he watched his target with great intrigue; waiting for the right moment to carry out his plan.

The Nightingale turned and made her way towards him. Her face completely disguised under those grey drab robes. 

“Merlin bless you -” he started a coughing fit and covered his mouth. A pretence for the slight of hand where he proceeded to slip a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Skiving Snackbox Fainting Fancies in his mouth and sucked hard on the sweet. Her warm hands clasp his shoulders before his world turned black. 

* * *

Someone prised one of his eyes open and burned his retina with a blazing brightness. Draco flinched in discomfort and sat up.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” A melodic voice chimed.

He rubbed his eyes and adjusted to his surroundings. A cramped room, surrounded by cabinets filled with vials and jars of ingredients, and a bookcase overflowing with books, it’s crevices stuffed with rolls of parchment. A handful of candle stubs floated near the ceiling to bask the small space in their soft glow. The bright light he felt on his eye came from the grey figure’s wand pointed directly at him.

“You’re the Nightingale.” He said as he reached for his wand. His voice was back to normal and his wand was missing. There was only one explanation, she knew who he was and taken his wand from him.

“Why are you searching for me, Draco Malfoy?” She asked from underneath her grey hood. Her wand hadn’t moved an inch. 

Slowly the golden hunter raised his hands. “I mean no harm to you. I’m only seeking your help.” He pleaded. Nerves causing his heart to beat an unsteady rhythm.

“You turned down an offer of help from Healer Granger. I won’t accept a patient who has declined her talents.” She dismissed his plea and in that moment of desperation, Draco tore open the ragged shirt he wore to reveal his lean chest. While he couldn’t see her face, he knew she could see clearly what was happening to him.

Dark inky veins clustered around his heart and spread their bluish tendrils across his chest. Large, ridged, pinkish scars layered underneath the dark web on his chest. He held his breath as he waited for her to observe his broken body. Slowly she lowered her wand and raised a small pale hand towards him. She stepped forward, cool fingertips brushed against his heart, traced the rivers of dark veins. Goose pimples spread across his arms and he shivered from her delicate touch. 

“Let me ask a favour of you and this is the only time I will ask.” Her breath blew onto him like clean cool mint.

“Ask me anything Nightingale. I am at your mercy. If you want gold, treasures, prized ingredients. Anything you want and I shall give it to you.” He begged. 

Her fingers traced along one of the longer ridged scars that he acquired in Hogwarts from the Boy who Lived. 

“My only favour is this: Please ask Healer Granger to heal you.” Draco was astounded by the request. 

“How can you ask me for such a favour? When I want you and only you, Nightingale to heal me. Nobody, not even Healer Granger can save me. Please.”

The Nightingale stepped away from him to reach for an item in one of the cabinets and closed her fist around it. Reaching her fist towards him, he offered her his open palm. Opening her fist, a small bronze pocket watch fell into his hand. The glass face was cracked and the marching of time had frozen. 

“I’m sorry Draco, I cannot heal a man who has refused my help twice.” 

The golden hunter felt confused from the rejection and watched a small delicate hand pull back the grey hood. A glorious honey brown crown of curls blossomed from underneath the fabric. Draco stared in disbelief as Hermione Granger’s face came into view, her brown eyes filled with sadness.

“Goodbye Draco Malfoy. Don’t come looking for me again.” Hermione swished her wand and before Draco had a chance to apologise for his grievances, he felt a familiar pull in his belly and was gone.


	2. An Audition of Song

The chirping and buzzing of St Mungo’s hospital overwhelmed Draco’s pounding head as he walked the familiar path down the corridor, uninterrupted by the indifferent receptionist. He turned left at the Capricorn Ward, past the Virgo Ward and entered the Gemini Ward with an olive door on his left. 

The office he entered was vacant and exactly like the last time he saw it. The desk was still overwhelmed by the mountains of books and hills of parchment rolls. The cabinet filled with medical supplies was stuffed but neat. The hungover blond inspected the room for secret compartments. His fingers examined the grooves of the skirting boards and the underside of the desk. His eyes roamed over the neat handwriting on the open parchment on the desk. The slight creak from behind jolted him like a stinging hex.

“I told you not to find me.” 

Draco turned around to come face to face with the witch he was looking for. She was in her white Healers robes this time, her hair tied back into a bustling tail and a frown graced her face. The hunter put on his most charming and innocent face. 

“I only came to apologise to you.” 

Hermione crossed her arms in a huff. 

“Go on then.”

He smiled as he sat down on the medical table within the room. 

“I am terribly sorry about doubting your abilities as a healer. I didn’t mean to be so dismissive.”

Hermione’s expression of skepticism remained unchanged since he offered to apologise. 

“Considering you were one of the brightest witches I know, or even in our generation, I have every confidence that you are the best person who can help me. I have consulted many other healers privately and they couldn’t understand how to cure me. Please, Granger.”

Draco waited with bated breath while the witch before him chewed her lower lip. Her dark eyes squinted at him as if to cast a revelio over him to reveal his secrets. Finally, she lowered her arms and waved her wand. The door swung open, the blaring noise of a working hospital traveled in.

“I accept your apology. Now please leave.” Her melodic voice turned shrill with annoyance. His heart sank with lost hope, but then an idea of inspiration flew into his mind.

“I’m disappointed Granger, that you would defy your healers’ code of ethics and discriminate against me.” 

A scarlet flush spread across Hermione’s face. Her tied hair moving with extraordinary magical lift. Her nostrils flared with anger that he felt would rain down upon him.

“Of all the people in the world, you have the least right to talk to me about ethics!”

Suppressing the urge to smirk at his bait, he feigned indifference to her anger.

“Why not me? I witnessed and partook in unimaginable horrors during Voldemort’s failed rise to power. Which means I have a clear understanding of what is ethical and most certainly unethical. I don’t see why a man with this kind of unsavoury experience does not understand the boundaries of morality or ethics.” 

The mottled witch bit her lower lip at his argument, clearly debating his words internally. Draco continued.

“Therefore Healer Granger, I know firsthand that you are unethically refusing to treat me on the grounds of prejudice.” 

The air crackled with a tightly coiled tension as the pair began their staring battle He noted the light dusting of freckles across her nose; like icing sugar on a Victoria sponge cake. From what he remembered of Granger, she was just as stubborn and unlikely to yield as he was. Without breaking eye contact, he slid down to his knees and her eyes widened in surprise.

“I beg you, please. I’ll pay you whatever you demand. I will fill your vault to the hilt with gold and treasure. I will buy you every book your heart desires. I will fund your clinic so you can take care of more patients. You can have -” Draco’s desperate pleas were cut off as a delicate finger pressed against his lips.

“Do you still have the pocket watch?” She asked.

Nodding his head, the desperate wizard waited for her reply as his blood roared in his ears and heart pounded with anxiety.

“Use it tonight at 9 o’clock sharp. If you don’t turn up, I never want to see you again.” Gliding across the room, she held the door to the office open.

“Until your next appointment, Malfoy.” Draco had been dismissed, so he stood and left St Mungo’s for the second time this week. Only this time feeling much more optimistic than before.

* * *

That very evening at the golden Malfoy Manor, the marble floor was being scuffed and marked by the anxious pacing of it’s Master. He palmed and toyed with the broken pocket watch anxiously and Narcissa worried what caused her son to be so unsettled. As a grandfather clock with a dozen gilded hands began it’s chiming to mark the ninth hour of the night, the pocket watch sprung back to life as if revitalised by the breath of time. Suddenly Draco was pulled from his palatial home by his navel and returned to the dimmed room once more. 

“Change into the shift on the table and call me when you’re ready.” The only door closed before he could acknowledge his new healer. The room was the same as before, crammed with bookcases. Only this time, a light blue cloth was neatly folded on the medical table, supposedly ready for him to change into. 

Draco shed his fine clothing and carefully hung them on the hooks behind the door. He stood barefoot in his underwear and slipped on the shift as he would a set of robes. The sleeves were short and the entire outfit barely reached his knees. He tried to pull the ties of the shift to close across himself. However, the fabric barely reached across his body and the long ties couldn’t conceal his scar-ridden chest. In a huff, the confused blond gave up in resignation and sat on the medical table. 

“I’m ready.” As he shouted he wondered if he could get his wand out of the pocket of his robes to cast a warming charm in the room. 

The door opened again and the brown-haired healer stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks were flushed. 

“Malfoy, you are wearing your shift the wrong way round.”

Shrugging he rolled the fabric from his shoulders to reveal what wasn’t on display already. Lean shoulders, a hard chest slashed with scars ranging from pale silver and flat to deep pink and ridged, and the black web of inky veins that spread from his chest. The healer’s dark innocent eyes widen even more into saucers.

“Well put it back on the right way round then.” She instructed, but Draco wasn’t one to take orders.

“I don’t understand why I have to when you’re going to examine my body anyway.”

“It’s for your own modesty.” Her mortification was evident by the shrilling protest of her voice.

The blond remained unconvinced. 

“You’re my healer. I feel perfectly modest in what I’m not wearing and I’m sure you can be professional.” With a smirk, he discarded the shift to the only chair nearby. 

“Fine then patient Malfoy. First, let’s start with some initial questions.” Waving her wand the room felt comfortably warm for Draco. A quill magically set itself upon a blank roll of parchment at the desk. He noticed how the freckled witch schooled her face to serious professionalism.

“Date of birth?”

“Fifth June Nineteen-Eighty.”

“Do you drink, smoke, or take any recreational drugs? If so how often?”

“About a quarter to half a bottle of Firewhiskey a night, between three to twelve pipes a day and once every few weeks, I’ll do a bit of Fairy Dust.”

Hermione’s lips tightened in disbelief.

“How often do you exercise?” Draco smirked at her question.

“I’m clearly not unfit if that’s what you’re asking.” He relished the way she averted her gaze from him.

“Please answer the question Malfoy. What is the frequency and duration of your physical activity every week?”

“Fine. I walk, run, and fly every day for at least an hour or so. I used to run around the gardens of Malfoy Manor when my knees were fine. My job is physically demanding so I need to stay active.

“Any pains whilst exercising?” 

“My knees hurt like a bitch and sometimes my back spasms. But I take a pain suppressant for that.”

“Any other sports activities that can cause any pain or discomfort?” She asked.

“Once in a while, I’m more active with a bedroom partner.” He winked and delighted to see his prim and proper healer squirm.

“Describe what you eat on a daily basis.” She asked, diverting the conversation.

“Aren’t you supposed to scan me with spells?” 

“I will get to that. This is a holistic medical approach where I will take into account your lifestyle choices.” 

The quill continued its perpetual scratching against the parchment. He sighed at the tediousness of this appointment.

“I don’t have regular meals. My routine can be rather erratic.” 

“What is your typical meal like then?”

“Whatever I can eat while I’m on the job, I’ll have coffee, small snacks that are sugary and some energy replenishers. When I’m home, I’ll eat whatever the house elves cook.” He noted how the witch’s lips pursed together in a thin line at his answer. 

“What would your meals at home consist of usually?”

“Full English or porridge at breakfast. Fish or chicken for lunch with salads and soups. Fish or red meat with vegetables for dinner and dessert.”

“Sumptuous.” She remarked sarcastically. “Do you have any aches or pains?” 

“Aren’t you the healer supposed to tell me what’s wrong with my body?”

“It’s good to start with what the patient knows already.” His healer defended. Sighing in resignation he decided to answer her question.

“Like I said my knees hurt, then my lower back can twinge. I sometimes feel so tense between my shoulder blades, I have to get a house elf to massage the tension out. Needless to say, my chest hurts where my heart is.” His hand pressed against the perpetual ache of inky webs. Her eyes gazed at it with curiosity.

“Tell me about your family medical history. Does anyone in your immediate family suffer from any health conditions?”

“No.” The floating quill scratched his answer on the parchment.

“Any old curses or hexes?”

“Not at all.”

“What about allergies?”

“My mother can’t touch or eat Billywigs.” 

Hermione nodded as her quill wrote down his answers. “I’m going to take some measurements now.” Using her wand she conjured a large set of scales in front of him. “Step on it please. Feet hip-width apart and arms by your side. Try not to move.” 

Stepping on the cold marble scales, multiple things happened simultaneously. A measuring tape appeared and wrapped its cold fabric self across his chest, waist and hips. Then it stretched itself to match his full height. A thick black band wrapped around his left bicep and squeezed tightly. Draco was about to complain about its brute force until it started to deflate itself. A ring covered his index finger on his right hand. He flinched and glanced down to his left hand where his other index finger dripped with brilliant red droplets of blood from a pinprick to fall into a small vial.

“What are you doing Granger?” She was staring at the parchment as the quill continued to scribe onto it.

“Taking your measurements, including your blood pressure, which is a little high and collecting a blood sample for medical tests.” 

She waved her wand and a glass of water and a wide stout jar appeared before him. 

“Have some water and please give me a urine sample. I’ll leave the room for some privacy.” 

“No Granger!” Draco protested, completely mortified by the idea. “I’m not going to piss in a jar for you!” 

“That’s too bad. I can’t heal you properly without all the examinations, It’s your choice. Remember to go over the chamber pot and wash your hands.”

His strange healer flicked her wand and all the apparatus disappeared leaving him stunned by her request. His mouth hung open as she asked him to be quick about it will she popped outside. A chamber pot suddenly appeared by the medical table. Draco deduced that the woman was barking mad as he did his business as carefully as he could. Then he thoroughly washed his hands in a sink that was in the corner. The now filled pot was carefully placed onto the table with its lid very tightly screwed on. Granger came back into the room as he was drying his hands. 

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” She smiled innocently. With a swish, vials of potions flew out of the cabinet and his careful sample was portioned out and tested. Turning into a variety of bright colours. 

“What are you doing with my - ,” he grimaced, “fluids?”

“I’m testing your samples for all sorts really. Identifying minerals, any potions or, oh yes I see you’ve taken fairy dust recently.” 

Her wand swished and flicked around when more vials flew out of the cabinet and began to be filled with droplets of his blood. 

“The blood samples may take a few more minutes. But while that’s happening, please stand facing the cabinet with your feet a hip-width apart.” She ordered.

Draco stood and stared at the bottles, organised alphabetically. Before he had much time to contemplate what more this strange witch could examine, a magical shock ran down his spine that made him jump out of his skin. 

“What are you doing?” He accused while Hermione looked perfectly professional.

“Conducting an examination of your skeletal frame. So turn around again.”

Gritting his teeth, he turned to stare at the neat ingredients in her cabinet. His feet were getting cold on the stone floor and the rest of his body felt bare to her gaze. Fingertips pressed and smoothed over the vertebrae at the back of his head, nestled in his hair. Those ink-stained fingers prodded firmly and he could feel her soft breath on his back as she moved down his spine. Firmly pressing and trying to shift bones. It was uncomfortable and intimate, nobody had ever touched him like this before.

“Alright Malfoy, I need you to move your body as instructed. Don’t push further than what is comfortable and let me know if you feel any pain.” 

So he moved, twisted, and contorted into all manner of positions while her warm hands continued to press, glide, and massage over his body. Some of the moves were easy, yet others ached in his joints or muscles. Hermione gave instructions whilst dictating to the still-recording quill. Draco wondered when the bookworm Granger he once knew became so indifferent to the male anatomy. 

“I’m done now with your assessment. Please have a seat and I’ll discuss your treatment plan with you.” 

“Can I put my shirt back on yet?” 

“You need full freedom of movement, for the treatment. So I recommend the shift which you have chosen not to wear.” 

Unsatisfied with her answer, the irked hunter sat back down.

“So overall Draco I can see that your spine is a bit compressed in your neck and in two places on your lower back which is treatable today. As for your knees and wrists, we can treat it too but I also recommend that you should not strain yourself when you start feeling pain in your joints.” 

The witch looked rather animated as she ran her eyes through the long parchment, now full of neat annotations. 

“I’m going to prescribe a nourishment potion to replenish your vital micronutrients. I ask you to take first thing in the morning every day.”

Draco nodded in understanding, so far everything sounded reasonable.

“I’m going to also ask you to cut coffee, alcohol, tobacco and Fairy Dust.”

“How am I supposed to function?” Draco protested, earning him a patronising look. 

“If you have a Fairy Dust dependency, I’ll find you treatment for that.”

“Not the Dust! I can stop if I want. I mean the coffee." 

She grinned with a knowing look at his discomfort.

“You will feel terrible for the first few days, but your body will adjust. My recommendation is you stay home for the next day or two to adapt to your new treatments.” 

Draco thought her smile looked almost sinister at his obvious displeasure. But she busied herself with a cabinet filled with dried herbs and potion ingredients.

“I’m going to prescribe tea with my special blend. Try having it as a coffee replacement. It will also help with your ailments. In addition, I suggest that you chew on hinoki bark when you have tobacco cravings.”

A sense of dread and regret began to sink in for the hunter who so desperately wanted to be healed by this mad witch only this morning. 

“For your heart, we will need more examinations next time and I can map out proper treatment. Do you have any questions so far?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Draco didn’t ask the full question as his hand clasped his chest. Hermione’s eyes had a gently sympathetic understanding.

“It seems like your heart has been cursed and caused a process of decay. Fortunately it seems to be spreading slowly.”

“And can you treat it?” His voice was tinged with uncertainty.

“I need to get another scan of your entire heart and then we can plan a treatment for you. But that will have to wait until next week. For now, I’d like to treat your spine. Could you sit on that chair, facing backwards please?”

By this point, the hunter was no longer surprised by the amount of prodding and pressing from the brown-haired witch as he straddled the only chair in the room, his arms resting on the back of it. Her arms in starched grey robes reached around his torso. 

“Take a nice deep breath and relax on your exhale.” She whispered in his ear with such lightness it registered as a gentle breeze. Her curls tickled the nape of his neck and Draco could smell clean soap and ink. 

With her body, the Nightingale healer twisted him gently left and right, from side to side. He took slow relaxing breaths until he felt spineless. 

_ Crack! _

Without any warning, Draco’s back snapped and locked into its rightful position with such force, he thought a hippogriff had attacked him. But the pain never came and his natural instinct to scream for pain fell silent from his mouth. 

“I have just pushed one vertebra back into alignment. Let’s do the other two.” Her arms wrapped around his belly and Draco felt her shoulder press into his back. 

“Take a nice deep breath once more.” She instructed in a gentle melody. 

Once more Draco leaned into her as she twisted him from side to side, hanging like a limp rag doll. Yet again the deafening sound of bones cracking didn’t bring about the pain that he had expected to come.

“Fantastic Draco.” Her fingers firmly pressed down each ridge of his spine, before walking around to face him. Hermione looked down upon him and he thought with the candles in the ceiling and her grey robes, there was an angelic look about his healer. She cupped his face in a comforting cradle and Draco wondered if she had cast a non-verbal warming charm. 

“Take another one of those deep breaths. For the final time.” Pulling his head close to her abdomen, rocking it in gentle swings, Draco thought he could be hypnotised into submission. 

_ Crack! _

The comfort of the soothing motion ended abruptly as his neck clicked into place and her hands no longer cradled him. 

“You are done for today. Next appointment is same time next week. I want you to rest tomorrow because you will be sore.” Her wand pulled several vials towards him. “You are to take these supplements, one bottle a day and drink this tea instead of coffee. No drinking, no smoking, no drugs and no strenuous exercise until next week. You can put your clothes on and leave.”

Draco had since not regarded his nakedness as uncomfortable until now. He fumbled with his fine garments and attempted to put them on with as much care as he usually did. But it was considerably harder when the healer stared at him as he dressed. It occurred to him that most women watched him undress as opposed to the other way round. The thought brought a smug smirk to his face. He grasped all his new potion vials, tea and the pocket watch of a dozen hands. 

“Until next time Granger.” The broken pocket watch spun to life and marked the passage of their time together. Once more, the hunter landed back at his golden Manor.

  



	3. Song of a Nightingale

Dawn and her rosy fingers tickled Draco’s eyes through the crack of his bedroom curtains the following morning. His entire body felt leaden, weighed down by an invisible force. The blond master of Malfoy Manor called for a house-elf and requested a warm bath. The bath was drawn in a gold-gilded tub, filled with a rainbow of bubbles and aroma which Draco sank into and sighed with relief. 

_ What has Granger done to my body? _ Each bone in his spine felt like ceramic pieces precariously stacked one on top of another. He began to wonder if the Nightingale was, in fact, a sham and he should report her to the authorities on the grounds of malpractice. With a crack, a house-elf appeared before him, it’s pointy nose almost touching the marble floor in its deep bow. 

“Rusty wishes to present this letter to the Master.” It squeaked as it presented a small letter with neat handwriting.

“Read it.” He commanded.

Rusty the house-elf tore open the envelope and read out loud.

_ “Dear Malfoy, _

_I’m sure you are feeling very sore right now. I can assure you that it is a common feeling after the first appointment. A bath and much-needed rest are important for the next day or so. Remember to drink your potion today and please see the enclosed meal plan for the upcoming week._

_ With regards, _

_ The Nightingale” _

The house-elf was about to unfold another sheet of parchment when his Master spoke.

“Take the other page to the kitchens and prepare me some breakfast.”

With a snap, it was gone to carry out his orders. Draco closed his eyes and willed for his body to not ache so much. Eventually he was able to dress and make his way to the orangery. The orangery was one of the many beautiful rooms at Malfoy Manor. Tall fruit trees laden with ripe temptation and the most exquisite flowers lived in the orangery, circling a patio for guests to sit and admire. The frames of a thousand small windows were gilded in gold and shimmered in the sunlight. Sitting at the grand marble patio table was Narcissa, elegant as ever. Draco greeted his dearest mother with a kiss on both cheeks before sitting in an empty chair next to her. A warm teapot on his right replaced the usual coffee pot. 

“My darling, what brings about this change in tastes?” His mother asked curiously as she observed the teapot and the sparse breakfast in front of her son. Draco sighed at the small portion of porridge, covered in a variety of seeds and a handful of berries.

“My new healer has prescribed me a new diet.” He said as he poured himself a cup of tea. It came out reddish-brown and reeked of earthiness. Narcissa wrinkled her nose at his choice of drink.

“What kind of healer is this, who prescribes a diet? Wouldn’t a potion or spell suffice?” She questioned.

“The healer is known as the Nightingale. Perhaps you have heard of her. She is an unconventional but reputable healer.” He said as he held his breath to take his first sip of tea. It wasn’t as bad as he had thought.

“What about all the other healers I sent for? Surely they could heal you without this,” She gestured to the murky tea and breakfast. “Without you ingesting sludge.”

“Mother dear, I have tried the other healers to no avail. Let me try this healer’s treatment plan for a few weeks and if she cannot cure me, I shall seek your help.” Draco reassured. Narcissa said no more as she drank her coffee and quietly observed her precious son eat peasant’s gruel.

True to her word, Draco’s soreness left him by the next day. He went for an easy broom ride around the Manor’s gardens and felt more spritely than he had in a long time. His contempt for the new diet and abstinence withstanding, the Hunter thought the Nightingale had performed a miracle. 

* * *

Soon enough, the week had flown by and once again Draco found himself pulled at his navel by the broken pocket watch to his next appointment. 

“Good evening Malfoy. Please undress down to your underwear and let me know when you’re ready.” 

Granger had already closed the only door before he could greet her in return. Carefully he placed his fine clothing on the hooks.He sat down on the medical table, the folded blue shift ignored and untouched. Things hadn’t changed in the cramped room, except this time Draco kept his soft woollen socks on for warmth.

“I’m ready.” He shouted and Granger entered. 

“How are you feeling this week? Noticed anything different?” She asked as she charmed the quill and a fresh roll of parchment to transcribe their meeting.

“The food has been horrendous Granger. Including abstaining from drinking and smoking. Are you trying to starve me from anything fun?” He asked with disdain. Granger’s chocolate eyes only danced with mirth and the slightest smirk graced her rosy lips.

“It’s called a detox Malfoy. Are you feeling any symptoms of cravings? Like restlessness, irritation? Change in appetite?”

“All those damn things. The first three days, I wanted to tear my skin off my body with my own fingernails!” He vexed. 

“Those symptoms will disappear, you’ll just have to give it some time. You’re doing well if you’ve made it a week already. How do your neck and back feel?” She moved next to him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder while the other hand began to pinch and prod his spine.

“Terrible. I could barely get out of bed, the morning after our last appointment. But I feel better now.” 

The blond patient shifted as a finger pushed a bit too hard on a tender spot and felt goosebumps sweep through him as she continued her examination. The scent of her clean soap and the tickling of her curls assaulted his senses. Draco was hyper aware of all his senses. 

“How does your heart feel this week? Have you noticed any changes?” 

Draco looked down at the poisonous black web across his chest. 

“The pain is still there and I think there’s a few new dark veins.” He hoped Hermione had an answer to this visible worry.

“Well I have some good news. Today I will scan your heart magically and map it out so we can find the root of the problem. Then we will work on some acupuncture to relieve you of some pains. Following that, I’ve made a special salve for your scars. Keloid scars are not worrisome but treatable. We’ll get some of that on you. Finally, if you are ok with it - we can do some cracking techniques for your spine. It won’t be as drastic as last time.” 

The blond patient nodded as her words went over his head, like a foreign melody. He trusted her that these unusual techniques would help him. The grey-robed healer moved away after her examination and seized a few pieces of coloured chalk. Draco could see beads of sweat on her brow.

“Aren’t you hot in that frumpy grey robe?” He questioned.

“Yes but these are my robes when I work.” 

“Why don’t you take it off? I know your identity anyway so there’s no point in a disguise.” Draco rationed. He felt uncomfortably warm just from staring. 

The brown haired witch frowned and huffed before she pulled the thick robes over her head and removed the robes. Draco gulped in regret for his encouragement, had he realised Hermione was clad in shorts and a fitted T-shirt. A stretch of silky abdomen was bared to him as her arms were raised to change. The T-shirt fell down once more as she placed her robes on a spare hook behind the door. 

“That’s better.” Hermione commented as she reached for the chalk again.

Draco tried to clear his mind, his expression remaining stoic.

“Why do you wear a disguise? You’re Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our age. You can practically do whatever you want”

“I’m going to draw some runes on you now for the spell to work.” 

She ignored his question and, with a careful hand pressed against his chest, began to draw complicated runes on him. Under his collarbone, around his pectorals, his back and his wrists. Blue and red symbols decorated his upper body and the process fascinated Draco to watch. 

“I have never seen a healer manipulate someone’s spine before. Is that normal?”

He recognised some of the runes such as ‘heart' and ‘sight’. The others were a mystery to him. 

“The board of Magical Medicinal Practices doesn’t acknowledge Muggle healing practices even if those practices have been meticulously researched and practiced for centuries. Therefore I cannot practice them in St Mungo’s. Even if they are non-evasive and probably contain less side effects than multiple bottles of potions.”

Hermione’s brow was furrowed as her concentration was solely on the runes, like he was but a marble sculpture, not a human being. Hermione viewed him as an anatomical object, he thought. Without much warning, the healer huffed at a supposed mistake she made. A pink tongue darted out and licked her thumb before it rubbed out a badly drawn rune.

Draco jumped in shock from the damp contact of her thumb smearing chalk from his lower ribcage. Her head was so close to his abdomen, it brought about an onslaught of thoughts. Thoughts that were steamy and inappropriate. Yet the witch before him seemed unaware of the salacious moment and continued to draw more runes on him. The blond leaned back and stared intently at the floating candles on the ceiling. Using all his skills in occlumency to _ not _ think at all. Eventually once she had drawn more runes on his back, the torment stopped as Hermione stepped back to admire her handiwork. 

“The runes are done. Stay very still for the next bit. Now I need to cast the spell and hopefully you won’t explode.” She half-heartedly joked but Draco was still so focused on _ not _ thinking that he failed to find it humorous. 

Hermione pointed her wand directly at his chest and began to whisper incantations as her wand moved in a dance of motions. Draco felt warm, as a gentle heat spread from his heart, through his chest and his back. The runes began to pulsate a light glow. He wanted to look at the runes pattern desperately but also feared a magical catastrophe and fought off the urge. Gradually the pulsating glow began to spread it’s shimmering light and hovered between them. Draco didn’t know the purpose of the lights as they danced and flickered rhythmically. More streams of light pulled away from him and gathered in the cluster until a clear picture began to form. The blond marvelled at the luminous image of his heart. It pumped and pulsated in time with the very heart deeply encased within his chest. Red and blue streams branched out from it and spread across the room in meandering slivers. He had never seen magic like this before. Hermione stopped her incantation and stared at his heart. He noticed how her mouth dropped into an open smile. It was a smile of pure delight and awe. 

“Here is your heart. Hopefully, we can see what is wrong with it.”

She circled it and tilted her head this way and that to find different angles. She pointed to an area of his heart.

“There’s a blockage here. Do you see?”

Draco squinted hard to where she pointed with a chalky finger. He could see a cluster of dark blue streams in the bottom corner of his heart.

“I think this is the source of your problem. It seems like something caused it to mutate into degenerative cells. If we remove it and then fill you with restorative potions, we might be able to reverse this.” 

“You want to cut my heart out?” Shocked by her suggestion.

“Not all of it, just this tiny bit. I don’t think it will be any bigger than a centimetre in diameter. Let me save this mapping image and I’ll explain.” 

Hermione flicked her wand and the quill rapidly sketched an image of his heart on the roll of parchment. Draco remained in a state of shock as he gradually became convinced this witch is a madwoman while she explained the procedure in detail. 

“I’ll give you some time to think about it, it’s a lot to process. Let’s move to the next treatment, acupuncture. Could you lie on your front and put your face in the hole on the table?” 

Her hands guided him to lie on the table, face planted in the hole at one end of the table. A bowl of a most soothing aroma was conjured under the hole and as Draco inhaled its perfume - it relaxed his very being. 

“I’m going to wash off the runes. You won’t need them anymore.” He heard water splashed about and trickling before a warm damp cloth was placed on his back. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be gently taken care of, while Hermione washed off the chalk runes from him. 

With the combination of warm water soothing his back and aroma under his nose, Draco began to relax. 

“Now that you’re cleaned up, I’ll start on the acupuncture. Have you tried it before?” He mumbled a no. Perhaps it was his mind but it felt like Hermione’s tone was lower and more melodic.

“Well it doesn’t hurt at all, it will feel like I’m flicking you. I need you to stay still, breathe slowly and deeply. Then once I’ve placed all the needles, you can relax where you are for thirty minutes.” Draco could only hum his agreement as her explanations scarcely meant anything to him.

Warm delicate fingers began to press various parts of his back, followed by small flicks, pinching his skin in a slow rhythm. Draco’s eyelids became too heavy for him as they closed shut, his brain disengaging as her healing hands rubbed and soothed him into oblivion. A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his slumber and found an orange under his nose. 

“Malfoy. It’s time to sit up.”

The sharp citrus pulled him out of his reverie as he tentatively sat up. His body tingled with a new hum of energy that was inaudible to his ears but he felt it so clearly. 

“How do you feel right now?” Hermione asked as she cleansed a couple dozen of long thin needles, the longest needles he had ever seen. His eyes widened in shock.

“Are you going to put those in me?!” 

“They were in you for a good half hour. I told you that you won’t feel a thing.” She replied innocently as she continued to clean them in alcohol.

Stunned that this witch dared to pierce him with all those needles and what astounded truly was that he felt unscathed. 

“How does it work?” 

“Acupuncture is an ancient practice of locating points within the nervous system and stimulating those nerves with thin needles. The goal of today’s session was to relax certain areas of your back, neck, shoulders and your knees.” Her hands carefully wrapped the needles in a velvet cloth pouch.

“I placed a few needles on your vastus lateralis, vastus medialis and semimembranosus. It should relieve any pains you may have from running.” She explained with such calmness as she gestured the points she placed those needles on her own bare legs. They were rather shapely legs Draco thought. 

“Why is the Medicinal board against these practices when I feel fine and unharmed?” 

“I suspect the board is a roundtable of old duds, who think magic has all the answers. Could you sit on a chair, facing the back of it please?” Pulling the chair out for him he straddled it, preparing himself for what was to come next.

“So this is a way for you to experiment on people who can’t afford healthcare?” Her arms wrapped around his biceps and began to rock him gently.

“Take a deep breath and exhale.” Crack! She twisted his back sharply and the disconcerting sound reminded Draco that she was pushing parts of his spine in line.

“I don’t do this to experiment. I just think there’s more than one way to help people. This is a way of ensuring I can help as many people as I can who cannot afford it.” She went round to face him. 

Draco couldn’t help but feel a flutter as her brown eyes studied his hardened steel ones. Her fingers combed through the hair on the back of his head, feeling the bones at his scalp.

“This is the last one for today.” She reassured and tilted his head so his forehead rested against her thin t-shirt at her abdomen and rocked his head softly side to side. Draco focused on slow and steady breathing before his head was abruptly forced sideways. His neck snapped into position and she let go of him before he readjusted his head.

“Same time next week. I’ll owl you with a new batch of supplements, tea leaves, and an adjusted diet. Also if you have been good and stayed away from running, this week it should be fine for you to walk about.” She gathered her grey robes and pulled them over her head. Draco dressed silently, his body still tingled from feeling anew. He took hold of the broken pocket watch and so his time with The Nightingale came to an end.


	4. Tears of a Hunter

For the first time in a few years, Draco didn’t feel like his body was broken. He could walk around the entire perimeter of the Manor’s garden and not feel his knees threaten to give out. He moved his back like a dancer, as opposed to a suit of armour. Even his dearest mother noticed how much more spritely he was. On this fine morning in the orangery, she even poured herself the smallest cup of his herbal tea. 

“Mother! I cannot believe you want to swap your beloved coffee for this sludge!” He teased as he sipped his own cup, his palate now accustomed to its taste.

“Since it seems like it has done you a world of good. I thought I could try.” She replied as her lips daintily touched the pungent liquid.

“Perhaps such talents as your healer would have helped your father a long time ago.” She remarked and the bright orangery became solemn over the passing of their patriarch. 

“I think, if Father was here right now, he would have banished the tea to the stars.” Narcissa, ever graceful, beamed at her son’s remark. 

“Indeed. He always was a conservative man. He wouldn’t have tried anything unconventional.” Her son in her eyes had always been different from her husband. It pained her to see him try to follow Lucius’ exact footsteps. However now that Draco was the Master of the Manor. She hoped he walked his own path.

They drank their brown tea and ate their breakfast in comfortable silence. A tawny brown owl, quite plain against the backdrop of magnificent tropical flowers and ripe fruit trees, landed on the golden avian pedestal with a letter between its beak. The letter was addressed to Draco and he opened it to reveal a photograph of a man who long hoped to be dead.

“Who does the Ministry want you to fetch this time?” His mother asked without any interest in the subject itself.

The blond man stuffed the photograph back into the envelope.

“Dolohov.” He replied with an unpleasant scowl. Narcissa dropped any feigned interest as her eyes widened in horror. 

“But he has been missing for so long. I thought he’s dead.” Her hands quivered whilst holding her teacup.

“Apparently not.”  _ But if I have my way, he will be soon. _ Draco thought as his chest thumped with a dull pain. The man who had caused all this pain within him deserved his comeuppance and Draco was more than happy to oblige.

Any appetite he had was gone and he excused himself from the orangery. All his intent was to start sniffing for any clues of Dolohov. Prey never waited to be caught.

* * *

It had been a long day of sending letters to contacts and a visit to Knockturn Alley which led to much questioning, coercing, and threatening people. However, Draco found himself without any leads to his goal. He returned home to shower and redress for his appointment with the most unconventional of healers.

With a now familiar pull at his navel, Draco landed once again in the confined space that was the Nightingale’s clinic. This time, Hermione didn’t bother to wait for him before leaving the room for him to change. He tucked away the broken gold pocket watch and stripped off his fine clothing before sitting on the medical table, the blue patient shift, still neatly folded and untouched again.

“Granger. I’m ready!” He shouted and noted that the usual mountains of books on her desk was entirely blanketed by a large diagram of a heart. His heart as a matter of fact. The door opened and he was amused to see the healer in a grey cotton shift. Her usual bushy-tailed hair was covered and held back by a bandana of sorts and around her neck hung a surgical mouth mask.

“Good evening Malfoy. Tonight I would like to perform a small operation on your heart. Would you like to hear how I will be conduct the procedure?”

Surprised by her directness, Draco only nodded in response. Granger sat down on the chair and pulled the diagram of his heart between them.

“As you can see, this is your heart. Now remember the small cluster I spotted last week over here?” A clean, dainty finger pointed to the small cluster of blue veins in the bottom corner of his heart. 

“I think it’s best to cut that section out and then give you a regenerative potion to restore the vessels and damaged tissue. Do you have any objections?” 

The blond’s mind remembered all the needles she stuck in him the other week and how he barely felt anything. Under that assumption, he didn’t object at all to her idea.

“Before the surgery, I’ll need you to take a few potions. These potions are to make the process more manageable. So one of them is a blood thinner, this would slow down your blood flow and you won’t lose as much blood. The second one is a painkiller, so you should feel a bit numb.” She held out a brilliant blue vial and a clear vial. Then she pulled a trolley close to the table and unwrapped the world’s thickest needle Draco had ever laid eyes on.

“This is the needle that will go under your ribcage to your heart and at the end of the needle is a pair of pincers. That’s what is going to take out the pieces we need to cut out.” Hermione carefully placed the needle back in it’s oil-cloth wrapper.

“Once the needle is taken out of you, I will give you the regenerative potion and a blood thickener to help wounds clot, while I seal the opening. Do you have any questions?”

Shocked, angered, and downright terrified, Draco lashed out. “Of all things, why that bloody great big needle? There’s magic for that sort of thing!”

“Unfortunately, magic can only get you so far. Unless you want me to rip your entire heart out. This surgery is particularly delicate. The other option is for me to cut open your chest, reach in, and…”

The blond cut her off mid-sentence. He had heard enough.

“What are the risks of that thing being shoved inside me?” Warily he put distance between himself and the wrapped up instrument of horror.

“That’s a good question. It’s relatively low risk if everything is done properly. Of course needle and the entry site need to be completely sterilised, otherwise there’s a chance of a blood infection and you could die from sepsis. Also the blood thinner and then thickener to help you clot should stop you from bleeding to death. Whereas the pieces of your heart we are going to cut out.” She paused in contemplation at how to best phrase her words.

“There’s no guarantee cutting out this section of your heart can stop the spreading of the degeneration of cells. If this surgery is unsuccessful, you will still die from the condition you are currently suffering from.”

“How many times has this kind of operation been successful?” He asked, he needed to know his odds between survival and the penultimate destination, death.

“This surgery has only been performed on one other patient and it was successful.”

Silence fell between them as the desperate blond weighed the chances of putting his life in the hands of a healer he once despised and in the trust of a surgery that only had one fortunate attempt.

“How long did it take that patient to heal after the surgery?” He needed more information.

“It took her about three days rest. It was mostly because she needed to let those potions go through her system.” Hermione replied factually.

“I have work to do, a Death Eater to catch. How would this affect my work?” 

“I strongly recommend that you are given bed rest for three days. Then you may return to work as long as it consists of light research and no strenuous exercise.” The curly haired witch gave him a knowing smile. “That also means no confrontations with Death Eaters for a week or so.”

Draco sighed, many years of friendship with the Boy-who-persistently-ran-into-danger had honed Hermione’s understanding of men with dangerous acquaintances. Glancing down at his bare chest and the persistent ache of the inky web, he made his decision.

“Let’s do it Granger.” 

She gave him a brilliant smile of excitement that lit the room. 

“Fantastic. ” Her wand transformed the untouched shift into a plump pillow for him.

“I recommend putting your trousers back on, since you don’t need to do this in your pants. Then lie on the table and make yourself comfortable with a pillow if you like.” Draco did as he was told as Hermione pulled out a couple more vials, various medical tools and cotton dressings onto the small trolley. 

He laid down on the pillow and a thick black band wrapped itself around the arm closest to the wall. A small cap covered his index finger and a blanket covered the lower half of his body.

Hermione pulled the surgical mask across her face and he could only see the glimmer of excitement in her chocolate eyes. Her hands were also covered in rubber gloves. 

“So I need you to drink these two vials of potions.” She gestures to the azure blue and clear bottles of potions, which Draco did obligingly. 

“I’m going to clean your skin for the opening.” In a circular motion with an alcohol swab, she wiped around a spot below his ribs on the right hand side for a full minute.

Discarding the swab, she flicked her wand and the parchment of his heart levitated above him. He hadn’t noticed until now that the lines on the diagram pulsed and swirled as if it were a live beating heart.

“Can you feel anything when I do this?” Draco could see as Hermione scraped the tip of a scalpel against his skin. It was disconcerting how he could see it and yet not feel it.

“Completely numb.” He responded.

“Ok good. Now I need you to lie completely still. If you want, you can focus on the diagram above you.”

The same long thick needle appeared in Draco’s periphery and he squinted at the diagram with it’s shifting lines and numbers that went up or down next to it. He couldn’t decipher what all the numbers mean beside the acronyms. He only assumed they were important.

“Can you see how the needle is getting closer to the target area?” His healer asked him in a soothing tone. He focused on a cluster of lines that were darkest in the lower corner and there he saw an image of the needle, much more intimidating now that everything has been magnified on the parchment. The blue vein lines swirled around the tip of it as it’s metal head forced through to it’s target.

“Now I’m going to prise open the pincers and will begin to cut. Are you ok?” 

His voice deserted him and only a breathy ‘yes’ passed his lips. Slowly the tip of the needle bloomed open into what appeared to be a menacingly sharp pair of pincers. Draco held his breath, he couldn’t feel it but knowing that they were about to cut open his heart swept a cold terror through him.

“Now I need you to take a deep breath and cough.” 

He coughed loudly and in the split second his eyes blinked from the force, he heard a squelchy snap deep within him. 

“That’s fantastic. Now I need you to do that again.” Instructed Hermione encouragingly. 

He coughed again to hear the same indicator that the darkness threatening to kill him was being removed. He coughed one final time as instructed, his hands tightly fisted with nerves.

“Alright Malfoy. I’m going to take this piece of organ out.” It was his cue to close his eyes and the warm liquid squelch told him more than he wanted to know. He heard the rapting of metal against glass and felt the warmth of a palm against him.

“I’m bandaging you up now. You did really well.” Her voice soothed him and Draco released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. A single tear fell from his closed eyes with relief. The weight that held him down, Hermione, the Nightingale had removed that burdening anxiety from him. Droplets of tears fell down across his temples, dampening his hair. A soft cotton swab dabbed his temples dry. Draco’s steel-hardened eyes opened in mortification as the delicate healer comforted him. Her other gloved hand still pressed against his wound with dressing.

“You should take it easy for a few days to give yourself time to adjust mentally as well as physically.” Now that her mask was pulled down, her rosy lips curved into a reassuring smile. She pulled herself away to switch crimson-stained dressing for clean ones and Draco could see the round puncture wound under his ribs that ran through him. 

With efficiency, Hermione sealed and dressed the opening. Then she pulled up a potion from a vial with a comparatively smaller needle. 

“I think I’ve had enough of needles for a while now.” Draco joked half-heartedly.

“This is the blood thickener I mentioned earlier to help all your wounds clot properly. It’s going to go in your arm and it will hurt much less than the other one.” The needle squirted a droplet of the potion. Hermione also handed over a second opened vial to Draco.

“Drink this.” The green mossy liquid swirled and Draco downed it without failing to notice it’s bitter taste. He gagged and flinched simultaneously as Hermione pierced his arm with the small needle she still held. 

“Devious witch.”

She grinned slyly in response. Then she deftly pulled the small needle out to swab the puncture. 

“Let’s get you sitting up slowly.” With her assistance, Draco sat up carefully and noted how his head swayed unsteadily. His grip on her wrist tightened as the room tilted on its axis.

“It’s normal to feel a bit unsettled. Your body is going through a lot right now. Tonight, I can Apparate you home and get you into bed. Or would you like to stay here?” Her now ungloved hands held onto his shoulders to provide support. 

“I’d like to rest in my own bed. There’s wards around Malfoy Manor but we can Apparate to the gates.” He explained, but slowly slid back down onto the pillow. A far more comfortable position.

“Give me a few minutes to prepare our apparition.” The healer moved around the small room. Draco could barely register all that was happening as warm arms guided him into a transfigured wheelchair. His shirt was put back on him and his robes lay folded on his lap. An arm in grey robes brushed against his.

“Ok I’m going to take us to your place now.” With a swish, Draco felt himself be pulled in a side-along Apparition. 

  
  



	5. A Huntsmen Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Draco had discovered the Nightingale was Hermione Granger. He managed to have her agree to heal him and the curse placed upon his heart.

A hand was gently stroking Draco’s soft blond hair that fell over his forehead. “Nightin-”

“Hush now my dear. It’s day now. You’ve slept through the night.” The voice of his mother soothed. Draco squinted and found himself in his own sumptuous bed.

“How did I get home?” 

“You were brought home by that drab healer who calls herself the Nightingale. Sweet, but terrified me when she brought you home, barely conscious, with a wound. I almost bound her! But she was very insistent on getting you to bed and then had the cheek to tell me how to look after you. My own son. How dare she tell me how to look after my own son!” 

Draco sat up whilst listening to his mother’s complaints. A glass of water and a potion vial sat on his bedside table and he reached for it. Narcissa helped him with his efforts.

“She told me to change your dressing once you wake up. What did she do to you?” 

Draco looked down, like the webs of the forest, pulled apart with only tendrils falling around the edges. Black meandering veins still travelled across him but no longer travelled to an epicentre. In his dazed state, a whimpering cry fell from his lips. 

“She saved me.” He cried as Narcissa’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Time continued its forward march as mother and son wept happy relieved tears. Eventually, Narcissa was able to pull away to clean and dress her son with loving care. 

“We should host a party. A small one. To celebrate your return to good health.” Narcissa suggested with an enthusiasm which Draco couldn’t deny her.

“Let it happen on the night of the new moon in less than two weeks. That would give me time to return to my full self.”

The elegant woman pulled herself together and left her dearest Draco to rest, while she had the task of planning an ostentatious party.

* * *

The sun and moon danced across the sky in two cyclical moves and by this point, the Master of the Manor was more restless than a caged dragon. His only conversations revolved around party planning with his doting mother. The puncture wound in his right side had healed over with a delicate pink film, which still required care. On the third rise of the golden sun, a smart rapt of an owl at his bedroom window brought a welcome change to the monotony of Draco’s routine. Letting in the owl, he read the neat handwriting in the short letter.

_ I hope you are healing well. I shall pop by at eight o’clock to check up on you. Please make changes to the wards to allow my visit.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ The Nightingale _

Draco grinned, he would welcome the company of another person very much. Even if it was the rather bossy Hermione Granger.

  
  


With an ear-popping crack, a house-elf appeared by Draco’s bed that evening.

“Master has a visitor. A stranger in a grey cloak. She says she is your healer.” It whimpered without making any eye contact with its master. 

“Bring her up and fetch some refreshments.” He commanded. Draco plumped up his pillows on his bed and combed his fingers through his hair while he waited. As the walk from the gates of the estate to his room was a long, winding one. It took some time before a now-familiar figure walked in with her grey hood still covering her features.

The house-elf bowed before disappearing to fetch refreshments.

“Honestly Malfoy. You should at least give the poor things something clean to wear. The indignity is most appalling.” Hermione reprimanded as she lowered the hood of her cloak. 

“Hello to you too Granger. Thank you for asking about my wellbeing.” 

Granger put her leather satchel down at the foot of the bed and stared at him, unimpressed.

“I can see that you have recovered enough to be snarky.” She pulled out from the leather satchel a stethoscope, fresh dressings and a few other oilcloth wrapped items.

“How have you been feeling since the surgery?” She asked as she sat beside him on the bed, reaching for the arm closest to her, the one with the dark mark. She wrapped a band around his bicep to the point of being uncomfortable.

“I felt pretty dazed for the first few days, but my mind has cleared up a lot.” An alcohol swab was rubbed against his inner elbow, just above the skull that glared menacingly at her. 

“That’s the painkillers and the regeneration potion working through your system. Have you felt more like yourself today?” Discarding the swab, she pulled a needle from one of the oilcloth wraps. Draco noticed how her eyebrows were knitted tightly together as she stared at his arm. 

“Yes, I have. I’ve also noticed the black veins on my chest have started to disappear.” Draco grimaced as the needle pierced his skin and she drew blood as if to disrupt the passage of his life force to the evil below it. Slowly she pulled the needle out but couldn’t stop the flow of blood in time. A single glistening gem of blood slid down and smeared over the brow of the skull. With an almost inaudible gasp, Hermione rubbed it with a cotton swab, tinting the skull pink. She pressed the swab against the puncture and fastened it down with tape.

“Sorry for the mess. I’m going to take this sample back for testing.” He nodded as she decantered his blood into a small vial. Carefully placing the needle back in it’s wrapping she placed it along with the vial back into her satchel.

“Let’s have a look at your markings.” Her chocolate eyes focused on his chest and Draco sat up more for her examination. Delicate fingertips traced those poisoned tendrils that circled and laced around his heart. The barest touch brought an uncomfortable tingle to Draco, almost like a tickle. 

The healer wore the earplugs of the stethoscope and placed its cold disc directly on his warm skin. The blond hissed at the contact but tried to remain still as he observed the witch listening with great intent. 

The disc eventually warmed against him as her fingers moved it around his chest and across his ribs. He was very conscious of his own beating heart and shallow breathing as she listened. Satisfied, she pulled the disc away from him.

“Everything sounds normal. Would you like me to check your back for you tonight?” 

“Since you’ve made the trouble to get here.” 

Draco lifted himself off his pillows and allowed her to reach an arm around him to press and prod his spine. Now that this routine has become more familiar to him, he couldn’t help but notice other things about the witch who sat beside him. Such as the way her hair which was still frizzy but soft when brushed against his cheek. Feeling a twitch of excitement, he wondered if the combination of being in bed and a female in close proximity after days of solitude or inactivity was to blame. Draco cleared his mind of thoughts, lest he embarrass himself.

“What position do you favour in bed?” Any attempts for a platonic, clear mind had been dashed with that question. Draco thought of all sorts of positions he liked  _ very _ much.

“Do you sleep on your front or on your side?” Hermione elaborated, seemingly oblivious to the innuendo of her question.

“I, um, sleep on my front.” Draco pulled some extra bedding over his lap, hoping the excess of fabric would protect his modesty.

“I think your pillows are too high. You should either try sleeping on your back or use flatter pillows should you wish to continue sleeping on your front.” She suggested as she pulled away from him to reach for something in her satchel. 

“How was the other patient injured? The one you performed the same surgery on.” Draco asked to divert his and her attention from his growing problem.

“She was in a fight with a nasty Death Eater and was hit by a curse. Probably similar to yours.” Pulling out a velvet roll, she unravelled it to reveal a large set of long, thin needles.

“How did you discover how to treat her?”

“It was a long process of experimentation and testing different treatments. Could you lie on your front, please? We tried every potion, counter curse, and antidote. Then I did some research into oncology within Muggle medicinal practices and I consulted a few Muggle doctors on how they remove tumours.”

As Draco lay on his front, without the pillows, he didn’t have a single clue what the subject of on-whatever or what tuners were. What he did glean from this was Hermione’s resourcefulness and determination. 

“So the runes and heart diagram. Is that something they use in St Mungo’s?”

Hermione’s palms pressed warmly against his back. 

“Not yet, I had to invent something like it and it’s currently going through the approval process. Muggles stick probes and use all sorts of large equipment to get a better look at the internal organs. They are probably more invasive and certainly more costly. I need to figure out how to do it without drawing runes, in case I get another patient with open skin wounds.” Her fingers worked from the base of his spine, flicking and gently pressing. Draco knew she was placing much more pleasant needles into him.

“What does that patient of yours do now? Does she go about her daily life as normal?” His eyes felt heavier as he laid there on his bed.

“I suppose so. She works at some institution. From what I understand, the problem doesn’t bother her anymore.”

They stopped their conversation as Draco nodded off into a relaxed state, unaware of the marching of time or surroundings, only comforted by the presence and reassurance of his healer beside him. Eventually, he was tapped on the shoulder.

“Malfoy, I’ve taken the needles out and you can sit up slowly.” Hastily pulled from the trance, the blond gingerly sat up. 

“How long did I lay there for?”

“It was only for twenty minutes. I’m going to crack just one vertebra if that’s ok?”

Groggy from his impromptu nap, he agreed and didn’t question why the witch moved around to the other side of his bed. The mattress dipped as she got on it and all his senses came back alive to feel her kneeling behind him. His legs were swung over the edge of the bed in a seated position, with her pressed against him. 

Fingers pressed against the lower part of his spine and the soreness of the bone couldn’t hide the arousing tingle Draco felt in his groin. Arms in soft grey robes slid under his arms and held him in a lock.

“Take a nice slow deep breath and relax.” She whispered in his ear which had the opposite effect than relaxing. Slowly she rocked him from side to side as the blond in her arms struggled to relax the tension within him. Anxiety and fear that she might be able to see his reaction towards her clutched him with fierce tightness. He couldn’t do this.

“I don’t need this tonight. Let go of me.” He commanded, which resulted in Hermione pulling away from him so quickly, he felt a twinge of regret.

“What have I done to upset you Malfoy?” He couldn’t make himself look at her.

“Sorry, I feel very tired and it doesn’t hurt so much. I’d like to sleep.” He yanked some bedding around him and started to lie down. The brown-haired healer shifted off his bed and reached for her satchel.

“In that case, I’ll let you get some rest. We can have our next appointment in a week from today. Just use the pocket watch portkey at nine o’clock.” Adjusting her robes, she pulled out a jar from the satchel to place on the bedside table.

  
“This is some more salve for your scars. I’ll see you later.” With a flip of the wide grey hood, Hermione’s bushy hair and face were concealed. 

“Wait before you go,how can I repay you? I can give you Galleons or gold.”

“You can reimburse me for the costs of the potions ingredients and equipment. I don’t need gold or jewels. Besides-”

Even though her face was hidden, he could imagine her rosy lips turn up into a smile.

“To see you cry was payment in itself.” With that teasing remark, she left his room and Draco sighed in relief. 

Confused by his bodily reactions, he could only conclude that he had been deprived of any female company as of late. He hoped his upcoming party would change that situation.

* * *

It had been a few days since the Nightingale's visit and Draco found himself more mobile again. The heavy ache in his chest had disappeared and those blackened web of veins had started to fade into gradients of bluish bruises to his normal paleness. It is a miracle that Draco is very thankful for as it gave him more time to consider his mission.

He had felt agitated in the past few days, ready to be out prowling the country for Dolohov. In the twisting gloom of Knockturn Alley, Draco kept to the shadows as he scanned the area for any signs of the person he was looking for. It was in the late afternoon when a shifty-looking man in a large cloak appeared within the Hunter’s sight, his eyes kept darting around his environment. Draco knew if anyone spotted even a thread of Dolohov, it would be Mundungus Fletcher. 

“You!” His gloved hand wrapped tightly around Mundungus’ neck and pressed the terrified man to the wall. “We need to talk.” 

“Oi! Careful with my jacket mate. Just got that stitched up by the missus.” Draco marginally loosened his grip and the shifty eyes moved around as the dealer adjusted his cloak.

“Who are you looking for this time?” Mundungus scanned the alley for anyone passing by, it was deserted for the moment.

“Dolohov. Have you seen or heard from him?” Draco used his other hand to press his wand into Mundungus’ side, which he knew he could feel pointedly.

“I may have, but it will cost you.” Draco need not hear anymore and watched Mundungus’ eyes focused on five shimmering Sickles that dropped into the breast pocket of his cloak.

“Tell me what you know.” 

“Not for five Sickles I won’t.” Crooks are getting too brazen the Hunter thought.

“For a promise to not deliver you to the Ministry for whatever pilfered objects you have on you, I strongly think you should.” Rarely has the Hunter ever carried out on one of his threats but he learnt as a boy to not promise anything that he couldn’t do. 

“Alright! No need to resort to blood and tears. Someone I know, can’t tell you their name, saw him only a week ago. He made mention that he will be abroad for a while to lie low. That’s all I got on him! I swear!” Mundungus pleaded and Draco took his answers with great skepticism. 

He pulled out a minuet bottle of clear liquid, popped the cork and forced it down Mundungus’ throat. The man spluttered but Draco held him tightly as he let the Veritaserum take effect.

“I ask again. Where is Dolohov?”

“I said he left the country to travel east. He bought a pair of dragon hide gloves off me, said they were for protection. That’s all he said.” Satisfied with the full truth, Draco confounded his informant and Apparated away before he had a chance to regain his senses.

* * *

  
  


The days passed by with a normalcy which Draco was most accustomed to. He travelled to various remote areas with Ministry approved portkeys. Dubrovnik, Belarus, and Kintrishi were only a few places where Draco searched high and low. The hunter examined every nook, alley, woodland grove, and cave. Dolohov still remained evasive.

Draco’s appointments had become helpful for his tired body. Too exhausted he had been in both of his appointments that he thought of very little, including any salacious thoughts of his healer. The more he had spent with Hermione, the fonder he became of her meticulous nature. Even her bookishness, which he once found irritating, was now becoming endearing. Especially when that bookishness had become very useful in helping him. Perhaps this is why Potter and Weasel kept her as a friend while they fell into all sorts of deadly scrapes. He found that his usual job has become less sore, less painful, with her tender care.

* * *

  
  
The evening of the new moon had arrived, and as promised his mother hosted the most spectacular party. Draco dressed in one of his finer robes, tailored to fit his toned body, his hair carefully swept to perfection. He held a glass of the herbal tea that had unexpectedly grown on him. Except it was now served chilled in a tall crystal glass, garnished with a citrus twist.

“Draco dear, please let me introduce you to our guests.” His mother called him over to a group of ladies. All of whom were slender, well-dressed, and elegantly presented. Draco smirked at them in a way he knew would make a woman swoon.

“Good evening. Thank you for being here tonight.” He kissed each one on the hand as he maintained eye contact with them. 

“My son here has made a miraculous recovery to health. I do hope you each get to dance with him tonight.” The ladies each gave him a look that promised more than just dancing.

“I hope it’s not too forward to ask what sort of treatment you received to assist in your healing?” Asked the auburn haired woman. Zephyrus was her name. Not that he would remember it again tomorrow.

“I receive a range of treatments from my healer. Have you ever tried acupuncture?” 

Draco entertained them with his recounting of acupuncture, stunning them with what they claimed it’s barbaric nature. At their protestation, he defended his healer and proclaimed the Nightingale as the finest healer of the country. The auburn haired woman even tasted a sip of his iced tea, her expression was schooled admirably into a polite grin after tasting it. Which he found rather amusing and attractive. 

Eventually he left the ladies to find his other friends at the party, for he had not seen them in a few weeks.

“Malfoy! Where have you been?” Blaise bellowed, brandishing a fine bottle of elven wine.

Draco put his hand over his iced tea as his friend was about to pour wine into it. The odd behaviour made the handsome dark man frown.

“What’s that you’re drinking? Is it any good?” Without invitation, Blaise shoved his nose into the cup but pulled back as soon as he caught a whiff of it.

“Trying to ruin your own party! That stuff should be thrown down the gutter. Unless this is a new high?”

Theo had by now joined them and also had a tentative sniff of Draco’s tea. 

“How can you drink that stuff? Smells worse than that beast’s hut at Hogwarts.”

“Actually I’ve grown accustomed to it.” He held their gaze and drank a deep gulp without flinching. “The Nightingale prescribed it to me. She’s a talented, if not conventional healer.”

Theo adjusted the band of his eye patch as he re-examined the glass.

  
“She never gave me any foul-smelling tea. How did you manage to convince her to see you?” Draco smirked in response, he didn’t want to divulge his secret. 

“Through skill and charisma, which both of you lack.” 

“So what did she do to you? I heard the ladies chattering away about needles or something.”

  
“There are plenty of needles involved but she’s rather good with her hands.”

Blaise gave a rather rude snort. “Bet she does if you’re this satisfied with her.” 

Draco didn’t like that comment one bit. 

“You are as much as a prick as the Nightingale is talented at healing.” He shot back at Blaise, who only looked amused.

“Now Malfoy, no need to insult your mother’s party guests. Besides I have a gift for you. Let’s go to a room where I can present it to you in private.” With Theo’s nod of encouragement, Draco led the two men into a smaller lounge where he watched as Blaise pulled out a wooden box from his pockets to place on a coffee table. The box itself couldn’t have been bigger than the length of his hand, elaborately carved with intricate floral patterns. Theo’s good eye glinted with anticipation as Draco went over to it and lifted the lid. 

There sat within it a potion bottle, the stopper and the edges of the bottle studded with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. On the gold plated label of the bottle, a single word was embossed in a cursive flourish.  _ ‘Nightingale’  _ it read.

“What is this rubbish?” Draco dismissed. 

“Don’t be fooled. This is the greatest healing potion ever invented and rare. Actually this might be the last complete bottle in the world.”

“I’ve tried it only once.” Theo contributed. “It was after a particularly nasty hit by a hex and it cured me instantly. I felt better than I had in a long time.”

Blaise held the bottle up to the candlelight; the liquid inside the bottle resembling molten silver. 

“One drop is all you need when you’re knocking on death’s door. I gift this to you, for I’m sure you will use it wisely.” Blaise offered it up, which Draco dared not take.

“How do I know if it is effective and it’s not just some snake oil?” 

Life so far has taught him to be wary of unfamiliar potion bottles. Without any warning, Theo punched him so hard in the stomach that the blond doubled over in breath-snatching pain. As he gasped in shock, he could barely resist when Blaise placed the pipette of the stopper on his tongue and a single silver droplet fell.

Suddenly the pain faded away as a wave of comforting warmth spread through him. His body didn’t feel the perpetual ache as it usually did in the joints and muscles. His chest was lighter than it had ever been. 

“Is this the potion at work?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“Indeed it is.”

The Master of the Manor could not believe the sensations he felt. Feelings of weightlessness and the surge in energy. He felt invincible.  _ A perfect state to capture or kill Dolohov. _ A dark voice commented in his mind.

“Now let’s celebrate your health. A toast!” Blaise replaced the previous glass of iced herbal tea with a crystal glass of elven wine.

“To life and good health!” With the warmth that still emitted from him, Draco took the wine and drained the garnet elixir. Since it had been weeks since his last drop of alcohol, the single glass took its effect as a cheery tingle. 

Throughout the evening, Draco celebrated his new body by drinking his way through a bottle of Ogden’s whiskey, impressing the female company with clouds of dragon-shaped smoke and giving mocking impersonations of his friends’ Blaise and Theo in order to dissuade the ladies they were trying to bed.

At some point, the blond distinctly remembered how everything seemed to swirl and sway around him. He took a break from the festive crowd in the bathroom, where he could relieve himself and splash some water on his face. It was then when he caught a glance at his own reflection. 

Pink spots were on his high cheeks and his eyes were hooded. He wondered if perhaps he had too much to drink. Something clinked against the marble sink from his pocket. Draco pulled the object from his pocket and in his hand was the bejewelled bottle of Nightingale. It twinkled and shimmered temptingly. His hand twisted open the stopper and dropped a pipette of the silver liquid onto his tongue.

The ground became stable and solid again. His body cooled down from the heat of burning alcohol. He was now comfortably sober but filled with a deep need for flesh-pressing activity.

Pocketing the bottle away, he left the bathroom for the party. It was on his journey there, he spotted a lone witch, her brown curls pinned up in a chignon and seemingly lost.

“Can I help you?” He asked and it startled her from glancing around the hallway.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to see some of your oil paintings. They say Malfoy Manor holds the most splendid portraits in the country.” Her smile was broad and nervous. Draco studied her more carefully. Her eyes were smaller hazel ones and her hair while brown was lighter. He gave her his most charming smile.

“Would you like a tour? I can give you some history of the paintings while we share a bottle of Ogden’s if you like.” HIs hand outstretched most gentlemanly. The lady graciously accepted and they ventured down the halls. The Master of the Manor gave sporadic anecdotes to long-deceased family members who snoozed in their portraits. Some of the portraits glowered as they noticed their young Master of their long-line of descendants had his hand further and further down the lady’s back as he guided her down the corridors. 

Eventually they made it so far away from the main party, they were in Draco’s private wing.

“There aren’t many portraits here.”

“Well, you’ve seen most of them now. This is actually my private wing and my room is further down.” He hinted as he took a swig of whiskey. Her hazel eyes glinted with a knowing look.

“Would you like to invite me in for a nightcap?” She asked seductively as her hand trailed along the opening of his robes. With his free hand on the small of her back, he led her into his bedroom where she wasted no time in closing the distance between them to seal a promise of the night to come with a passionate kiss. 

“Take your hair out.” He ordered as he pulled away to remove his outer robes. The woman stared hungrily at him as she let pins fall to the ground, her curls cascading down her shoulders. Draco thought the curls weren’t quite right, they weren’t messy enough in his opinion. He teased his fingers through them and ruffled them despite her protestation. He thought it looked somewhat better. 

Soon they found themselves naked on the bed. His hands, lips and tongue brushed and caressed over her smooth skin which brought out vocal moans and high-pitched squeals from the woman underneath him. As he had knelt on the edge of the bed, lapping up her slick folds that didn’t quite smell as sweet and tantalising as he had hoped, he felt his knees twinge and shooting pain up his thighs. He pulled away to massage his knees.

“Why did you stop?” She asked as she propped herself up on her elbows, legs still splayed open as if to invite him back in.

“Just a second.” Draco’s hand rummaged over the discarded clothing and found the pocket of his robes and the small diamond, ruby and sapphire bottle. 

“Touch yourself.” He ordered as he stood up to regain some sensation in his legs again. The curly-haired witch hesitated at first as her hands cupped her large breasts. 

“I said, touch yourself.” Draco barked, a little harsher this time. His other hand reached down to grasp his hardened cock and began to stroke the shaft slowly. She finally understood his intentions and began to creep one hand down to her wet slit and began to finger herself in earnest. Her voice became louder and more guttural. Draco wished she sounded softer and more melodic. But now that her attention was diverted, he popped open the stopper and took another drop of the potion. 

The warmth of the silver magic banished the pains and brought even more blood to his throbbing cock. It dug up deep, animalistic urges where there was only one way of taming. Climbing on top of the woman on his bed, he rode her hard and fast. She urged him on with sharp nails and even bit down on his shoulder at one point. Yet no matter what position he tried, whatever pace he had set, no matter how the witch’s pussy fluttered and quivered in tight spasms around his cock. Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to climax. He became increasingly vexed and fucked harder until he felt the witch had gotten to the point of being tired out. 

They took a moment to rest where she could regain herself after yet another shuddering orgasm. Draco was struck with an idea of inspiration. He conjured up an armchair in the bedroom and sat down on it. His clammy back stuck to the velvet.

“Sit on my lap.” He commanded. The witch gingerly walked over towards him and impaled herself on him to the hilt. With his arms wrapped around her waist and he whispered in her ear. 

“Take a deep breath and exhale.” 

The witch’s curls tickled his face as he slowly rocked her up and down, building delicious friction between them. His fingers pinched and tugged at her nipples.

“Keep taking slow deep breaths.” He whispered and the witch was quietened as she focused on her breathing as he continued his ministrations.

Soon the familiar quivering of her pussy began to intensify and Draco could feel his balls drawing up into him finally ready for release. He reached one of his hands down to her clit and rubbed it in lazy circles. 

“Merlin fuck!” She swore and came hard on his cock. Draco was also there and with a few jerky thrusts, he too reached a blissfully torturous climax. His cock gushed heaving squirts deep inside the witch as he buried his face into her hair. Hair that smelt too floral and not enough like fresh linens to him. 

Boneless and depleted, Draco summoned in a whisper. “Rusty.” 

In a loud crack, the grimy house elf appeared, it almost doubled over in a low bow. 

“Master called Rusty. Rusty is at your service.” It spoke to the floor.

“Take her to the bathroom to get cleaned up and escort her home.” He ordered as he lifted the witch off his lap, who was too dazed to really comprehend that she has been thoroughly used and dismissed. The house elf guided the naked witch off his Master and disapparated her away. 

Draco rested his head back onto the armchair. For a man who had spent what felt like hours devoted to fucking, he was remarkably unsated and irritated. Like there was a terrible itch, that he cannot reach to scratch. Exhausted from his exertions, he fell into bed into a fitful sleep.

* * *

  
  
  


The very next morning, Draco woke felt absolutely horrendous, with a splintering headache and cottonmouth. His throat was hoarse like he had choked on sand. A house-elf came and brought him the prescribed porridge filled with an assortment of seeds and diced fruit. His hand reached over and tipped the bowl over the meek creature, splashing the gruel all down it’s dirty pillowcase.

“Get that away from me. Bring me a fry up and a strong coffee.” He ordered and the house-elf was too terrified to contradict his Master complied.

It was safe to say that everyone felt the Master’s foul mood in the Manor that day. He drank cups of the ambrosia coffee. Ate whatever he felt like and took an afternoon nap.

However, none of these things helped by the time Draco went to his regular healer’s appointment that evening. The moment he arrived with a groan, Hermione knew something was wrong.

“What have you done?” She questioned, her arms crossed in a matronly manner. 

“I was letting my hair down. It’s what normal people do Granger.” He dismissed as he took off his robes. He didn’t need Granger to get bossy with him whilst hungover.

“So turning yourself into a pitiful state is what you call letting your hair down. I dread to think what your hobbies are.”

Hermione handed over a jar for him to piss in immediately. 

“Can I get some privacy for this?” His tone a little snappier than he intended. Hermione gave him a hot glare before exiting the room, closing the door harder than usual. It seemed like this appointment is on the trajectory towards mutual resentment. Draco did his business and after screwing on the lid extra tightly. He slammed it down on her crowded desk.

“I’m done!” He shouted as he sat down on the medical table. He rubbed his knees which were feeling sore as Granger came back in. He noticed how her eyes didn’t hold the same warmth from when they last met. He did appreciate that the usual grey robes weren’t worn. It allowed him to admire her slender figure in a T-shirt and jeans. With a wave of her wand, the jar tipped itself into a cauldron and various ingredients followed as the cauldron was lit. 

“Lie down for your acupuncture.” She ordered, her gaze avoiding his. despite the relaxing aroma under his nose, Draco couldn’t help but feel a tension in the room. 

He felt all the familiar flicking of her delicate fingers on his back and legs. Then she left him to lie on the table, resembling a sleeping albino porcupine.

“Let’s see what Draco Malfoy did to ‘let his hair down’.” The blond almost to wince from her harsh tone. For a while, the cauldron bubbling gently and the odd clink of glass vials.

“Oh yes, there’s alcohol, tobacco and an unknown substance. What did you take?”

“It was a painkiller that Blaise gave me.” He mumbled, it was hard to explain with his face planted down against the table. He explained in a muffle, his face was still muffled from lying against the cushions of the table.

“What kind is it? Show it to me.” She asked. She commanded, Draco thought he could be mistaken but there was a slight tone of worry in her voice as her pitch rose sharply.

“Yes Granger. Of course. Let me get up whilst I’m rocking this hedgehog look and apparate to the Manor to fetch it for you.” He replied as sarcastically as he could.

“Well bring it to the appointment next week.” She began to pull needles out and her fingers traced over tender skin that Draco didn’t realise was there. He winced at the touch.

“Are those scratch marks?” He wondered if he should tell her a lie or not. 

“Probably, must have been the witch last night.” The warm soft traces of her hand was gone and Draco felt very uncomfortable not knowing Hermione’s reaction. All he heard was the opening of a jar and he hissed as he felt a cold ointment slapped on his back without any warning of it’s application.

“I’ll put some salve on that and on those teeth marks on your shoulder.” Draco noticed how she remained silent and the way she rubbed ointment on him felt rougher than her usual care and gentleness. 

“You’re all done for today Malfoy. I’ll see you next week.” Before he could even sit up and glance at her. Hermione had left the room, leaving Draco with a strong impression that she’s annoyed or angry. But truthfully he was too hungover to deal with Granger’s feelings. So he quickly dressed and took the pocket watch portkey home.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you MourningMadam for hosting the Once Upon A Time fest. This has been an absolute delight to write.   
My deepest gratitude to Tridogmom for being my beta and the hours you devoted to reading what I've written.


	6. Imitating Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Second Wizarding World War, defected Death Eaters were allowed to repent for their crimes as fugitive hunters of remaining Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy took up the role, but the toll on his body has led him to seek the anonymous healer known as the Nightingale.   
To his surprise, the charitable Nightingale was Hermione Granger and she was the only healer who was willing to try to heal him.

The wind howled and nipped at the hem of his robes, trying to force itself down his neck and up to his ankles. The ground crumbled and slipped underneath his dragonhide boots as he hiked up the steep cliffside. Despite being hundreds of meters above sea level, Draco could still smell the salty air, a permanent reminder of his whereabouts - the Gran Canaria.

Despite the thousands of muggle tourists enjoying the beaches and sea below, up in the mountains, there’s no respite from the winds and the beating sun. This is where Dolohov was last spotted. Through legilimency, Draco was able to draw information from a recently captured fugitive and find what he was looking for. There was a cave somewhere nearby. He had to be careful of any detection charms or curses placed over the entry.

He waved his wand silently in intricate patterns to reveal any hidden traps or alarms as he climbed up the mountain. His hair kept whipping in his face as he tried to concentrate on his hunt. Without any warning, Draco lost his balance and fell into a volcanic groove, twisting his ankle in the process. He swore loudly enough for his curse to echo down the valley. Leaning against a nearby boulder, the Hunter drew out a small vial encrusted in diamonds, rubies, and sapphires from his pockets. Carefully he took a drop of the shimmering potion within the glass vial.

A sudden shower of coolness and comfort overswept him from his belly and outwards to the tips of his fingers and his toes. No longer did he feel weary from the long hike up the mountain, his ankle had righted itself as if he had never fallen before. In addition, he gained a new wave of energy, enough for tackling another mountain or two.

Draco tucked away his prized bottle of miracles and dusted himself off to continue his pursuit. The sharp whistling of the wind and waving rolls of gravel meant it was hard to hear his own footsteps, an advantage for a surprise attack.

Once he passed a large boulder, he could discern a familiar cave opening. Holding his wand in front of him Draco slowly edged forward. The cave opening was low and hidden by a cluster of boulders. The Hunter had to hunch over and bend his knees to squeeze inside. The floor of the cave was graveled and slimy from bird and bat droppings. He listened carefully to see if he could discern any inhabitants within. Creeping forward in the dark, to not give himself away his other hand felt the ceiling for guidance as he gingerly moved further into the abyss. 

Eventually shrouded in darkness, when the howls of the wind no longer hissed in Draco’s ear did he truly hear that the cave was empty. “Lumos.” He chanted and the cave’s contents revealed itself to the light from his wand. 

It was clear that this place had been inhabited. Rags of bedding, candle stubs and small bones littered one dome of the cave. There were dust and droppings on top of the rumpled fabrics, which suggested the makeshift bed hadn’t been slept in for a while. 

Draco inspected everything, for pieces of parchment or labels on food containers. Anything that could reveal a small piece of information about the person. There was nothing. 

Frustrated at the results of the day’s search, Draco climbed out of the grimy cave and apparated back to civilisation, on the outskirts of the muggle town by the shore. As soon as his boots touched the firm ground of a pavement, a sharp pain shot up his ankle again. The blond winced. Had the potion wore off so quickly? It hadn’t even been two hours since he twisted that damn ankle. With a quick glance to see if he was alone, he pulled out the bejeweled bottle of Nightingale and consumed one more drop of its silvery content.

Feeling renewed and pain-free once again, he stripped off his robes exposing his casual t-shirt. He placed his robes in his pocket which had a Ministry-approved undetectable extension charm for these occasions. Then he took a stroll through the muggle town and beaches to find any clues whether any of the unsuspecting Muggles have encountered Dolohov.

The questioning of Muggles was beginning to feel futile until the Hunter walked into a dilapidated grocery store. Its shelves were half empty, disorganised and a shopkeeper with pepper grey curls sat by the counter, wearing a worn floral shift, idly fanning herself. Draco took a bottle of water from the creaky fridge to her and casually shown her the picture he carried of Dolohov.

The moment the shopkeeper saw that picture, her hands gestured in the motion of a cross and began muttering to herself in an incantation that Draco couldn’t understand. She edged back against the wall, her eyes were wide with terror. 

The Hunter glanced around quickly to see if they were alone, which they were very much so. With skilled practice, he pulled his wand out and bound her with invisible ropes to the wall and drop[ed half a bottle of calming potion down her lips. The woman struggled, muttering the words “Jesucristo, el padre y el espíritu santo” before the potion took its effect and she relaxed. Sitting her down on a nearby chair, he used legilimency on her defenceless mind.

He walked through her memories easily, filled with days sat in the same shop, feeding stray animals and making her journey down the road to her equally shabby house. He found very few visitors in her memory. But then he saw an almost unrecognisable face that was shrouded in a dishevelled beard and hair that had been cut very short. It was his eyes that gave Dolohov away to Draco. Pulling this memory out of the shop keeper he dropped the long silvery threaded memory into a spare bottle he carried with him. 

She smiled sweetly at him and muttered words he didn’t know but understood as some form of compliment.

“Thank you for your time, Madam. I’ll take that burden from you. Obliviate.” The woman’s eyes were blank as Draco removed the memory of the terrifying Death Eater and his own visit to her shop. While she regained consciousness of what was happening, the blond hunter had already apparated back to the rolling hills near Malfoy Manor.

  
  
  


* * *

Bone weary and tired, Draco felt the broken golden pocket watch pull him through to the now-familiar candlelit clinic. He held in his other hand the encrusted sparkling bottle that has been his life-saver as of late. 

“Good evening. Feeling better?” Hermione greeted him. He noticed how she was in finer spirits today. Her hair has been pulled back into a ruffled tail and she looked more relaxed in t-shirt and jeans. 

He stretched out his hand and offered the expensive bottle towards her. “You said you wanted to see this.” 

Tentatively, Hermione took the bottle and for a moment Draco thought she was examining the precious stones and the intricacy of how they were set on delicate patterns of floral motifs. Her brown eyes widened as she inspected it before the crease between her brows deepened as her fingers tilted and turned the bottle in the candlelight.

“It has a medium viscosity, no signs of fumes emission and is that a pipette in its stopper?” She asked before setting the bottle down next to her desk. 

“The pipette is to help with dosing it.” Draco hung his clothing on the back of the door.

“I’m going to take a sample for testing.” Hermione’s intense curiosity was written all over her face as she decanted some of the potion into a very small bottle before sealing it. Draco looked at his own ostentatious bottle and noticed that a significant amount of the potion was gone, partly from his consumption and some to satisfy Hermione’s insatiable thirst for knowledge. He felt a stab of possessive annoyance that she had helped herself to the very thing that had given him so much and so quickly. 

“Are you going to examine over that damn stuff all night or are you going to treat me as agreed?” He snapped as he sat on the edge of the medical table. It didn’t go down well with the healer, who’s nostrils flared with annoyance.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” She flicked her wand and Draco found himself pulled down and lying on his back on the table. Stuck. Frozen. The witch had hexed him.

“Since you insist on my attention. Let’s have a listen to your heart.” She pulled on her stethoscope and without any pleasantries, placed the cold metal disc on different parts of Draco’s chest. It was hard to flinch from the chilling contact when one is pinned down. All Draco could do was stare at her face, pay close attention to her rosy lips and wonder if Hermione did anything else outside of healing. The healer stowed away her stethoscope and removed him from his invisible bindings.

“You can sit up if you are ready for the rest of the appointment to turn out well.” Gingerly the blond patient sat up, his knees accidentally brushing up against his healer. 

“I twisted my left ankle the other day.” She bent down and her hands gently squeezed the joint in question. 

“How did you do it?” She asked as she rotated his foot. 

“I was searching for a particular Death Eater on a steep mountain and slipped.” He flinched as she accidentally tickled him with a thick slab of herbal ointment.

“There can’t be that many more of them left. Who are you looking for?” Her tone was casual as her fingers massaged the ointment into him.

“Dolohov. Ouch! That was too much pressure.” His ankle was tender where she suddenly squeezed a little too hard. 

“Sorry about that. Tell me more about how you got into this line of work.” She avoided his gaze as she massaged his ankle and up into his calf, much more gently this time.

“Didn’t have a choice. It was either this or call Azkaban my home. This way, I am serving penance for hosting the Dark Lord in my home.” 

It seemed strange to Draco that for an opinionated woman, Hermione was silent. With her head bent down in concentration with the ointment and wrapping his ankle in a tight bandage, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“You know my mother and I had the drawing room and the dining room completely gutted and redecorated. Furnishings that had been in the Malfoy Manor for centuries all gone.” He paused as he rubbed his chest where the poisonous web of veins used to be.

“While I was at Hogwarts, the Carrows brought in other Death Eaters for what they called ‘practice duels’. I faced Dolohov in one of these and was hit with a curse he created. It hurt more than the cruciatus. Like I was being eaten alive from my chest. Madame Pomphrey did the best she could but neither her or any of the other healers I saw knew how to get rid of it completely.” 

“How about your knees? If you could lie back down, I can stretch the ITB band to relieve them.” He shuffled back and stared up to the candlelit ceiling.

“If I see him;  _ when  _ I see Dolohov,” he corrected himself. “I’m going to kill him. He doesn’t deserve to live in Azkaban.” It was a promise he wanted to make and saying it out loud was the confirmation he needed.

“Killing him won’t clear your conscience. He should face a fair and just trial in front of the Wizengamot.” Hermione said as she began to rub more ointment into his knees. 

“You and I know the Wizengamot isn’t always fair.” He was becoming increasingly distracted by the fact that her hands were massaging the ointment further up his inner thigh.

“He deserves the Dementor’s kiss more than you killing him in a quick death.” Her fingers still firmly pressing and pushing the pungent ointment up his thigh. Draco felt the effects of her stretching his muscles in a very different part of his body all together.

“Well, I’d like to torture him first. Even though we are trying to capture Death Eaters who have no qualms of using unforgivables, the Ministry would still punish me if I use them in return.” He paused, thinking about the times when Bellatrix crucio him and the agony. It certainly helped keep any feelings of excitement at bay. 

“Do you remember my other patient that I mentioned before?” Hermione’s voice sounded unsure.

“She was attacked by a group of Death Eaters, just before the Ministry declared war against Voldemort. Dolohov sent her an unknown devastating curse right into her chest and that’s where I have seen the same condition before I saw yours.” 

The healer reached for more ointment and busied herself with Draco’s other knee. Her chocolate eyes avoided his gaze as he stared at her in astonishment at her revelation. If anything, he felt more driven to seek revenge against the cruel Death Eater. For this poor witch as much as for himself. 

“Granger, do you do anything else outside of St Mungo’s besides healing dirty hobo’s and being friends with Potter and Weasel?” 

“Of course! I like to read before bed.” It brought on a bellowing laugh from Draco, which Hermione rewarded him with a deathly glare.

“Everyone knows reading is like breathing to you Granger! What I want to know is do you do anything else? Like, exercise or go on dates.” He hoped she didn’t pick up his suggestion of dating and romantic relationships. It might have been his imagination, but Draco thought Hermione was rather pink in the face.

“I don’t think much about those sort of things. I’m much too busy trying to help people who have nowhere else to turn to.” The healer began to wrap his knees in more support bandage.

“Have you experienced any pain or discomfort in your back?” 

“Not particularly. I have taken a drop or two of pain killer occasionally.”

Hermione’s grimace of disapproval was unhideable. “Have you abstained from alcohol, tobacco, and drugs lately?”

“Cleaner than the Hogwarts’ trophy room after detention.” Draco sat up once the witch finished bandaging his knees. 

“Have you noticed any side effects from the painkiller you’ve been taking? Like headaches, nausea, constipation?” The blond shook his head at her suggestion. Nothing like that. 

“Or even diarrhea?” Her fingers prodded from the back of his head and down his spine. 

“Absolutely not!” He protested in disgust. “I just feel incredible. Like it energises me and takes away all my pains and worries.” He reminisced how refreshed he felt only this morning when he had a drop first thing to perk himself up. 

“Have you noticed any other changes in your body?” Draco flinched just as she pressed against a tender spot in his lower back. He thought back to his mother’s party where he spent time with that other witch and how he had found it extremely difficult to come. But he held his tongue, it’s not something he wanted to share with Granger.

“Not at all.”

“I see. Lie down for acupuncture and then after thirty minutes, I’ll try to push that vertebrae back into place afterwards.” Hermione commanded.

For the rest of the appointment, Draco wondered if these regular appointments would happen for the remainder of his life. He debated internally wouldn’t it be better if he continued to take potions which had instantaneous benefits as opposed to this much slower and more time-consuming method of healing. Sure Hermione is a very good healer, but he had the other Nightingale now. 

Would that mean he would no longer have a reason to see Hermione again? This witch had rather grown on him over the months. Not that Draco would mention a word of this to her or anybody else. 

Once Hermione’s hair stopped tickling the back of his neck and she has released him from her body lock. Draco was completely taken by surprise at his own words as much as she was.

“Have dinner with me next week?” He blurted out, whilst buttoning up his shirt.

Perhaps it was the warm candlelight, but the healer’s face looked slightly pink.

“Dinner with you? Why?” Hermione’s eyes darted around the room before her gaze settled on the long thin needles that required cleaning.

“It’s to thank you for everything you have done for me. Nothing else.” He added reassuringly.

He began to doubt whether this offer was a good idea or not.

“It’s very nice of you to offer, but I have ethical rules about seeing patients outside of their appointments.” She explained, her gaze was somehow avoidant of his.

Draco’s stomach dropped at her response.

“Fine. See you next week then Granger.” He shrugged back on his robes and grasped for the broken pocket watch. It pulled him and his disappointment through an invisible tight tube towards Malfoy Manor.

  
  
  
  



	7. The Haunting Tune of a Nightingale

His throat and chest burned from his rapid breathing and legs were heavy with exertion. The wet ground pounded hard under his boots as he ran in darkness. A familiar high-pitched cackle pierced through the air as something caught his ankle and Draco fell into thick mud.

“Deserter.” It hissed as the large snake Nagini coiled itself around Draco with a vice grip.

He was trapped and desperate to escape. Above him, he saw his aunt hovering with her knife in one hand and her wand in the other. Her eyes were dark and murderous as ever. 

“Draco, Draco. What a disappointment.” She hummed with her wand tracing his face.

“Punishment for all traitors are the same.” With a wicked smile, Bellatrix raised her jagged knife and plunged it down to his heart.

Draco screamed as he opened his eyes. His bedroom ceiling came into focus and his legs were wrapped up in a tangle of bedsheets instead of the venomous snake. Panting heavily, his silver eyes scanned the bedroom in the light of the moon. There was no Bellatrix in sight. She died a few years ago. It was all just a vivid nightmare.

Laying in his bed, damp with sweat and trying to still his racing heart his legs felt leaden as if he had run many miles. The centre of his chest ached so much, he could almost feel where the dream knife had plunged into him. 

Reaching for the sparkling bottle of Nightingale, his fingers trembled. Draco noticed how he was more shaky than he used to be. Perhaps he truly was getting older. Popping the pipette out of the bottle, he let a drop of the Nightingale potion slip onto his tongue. Immediately he felt himself relax and become steady again. He placed his precious bottle back on the side table and fell back to sleep again.

* * *

If Godric Gryffindor had repeatedly hit Draco on the head with the hilt of his great sword, it would have hurt less than the pounding headache Draco woke up with. Every muscle fibre within him wailed with pain and all the blond could do was roll over in his plush bed to reach for the sparkling bottle of Nightingale with a heavy groan. 

Taking another dose of the beautiful silver potion, the familiar warmth soothed his worn body. Draco contemplated the day ahead of yet more hunting and tracking. The cyclical nature of his work was tiresome but hopefully, he would catch Dolohov soon. With a sigh, Draco rose from the bed and dressed for his day.

  
  


* * *

The combination of hot air blown from a nearby Muggle machine and the warmth of the sun’s rays was enough to make Draco feel extremely uncomfortable in his current observatory position. His binoculars were trained on a derelict warehouse about a quidditch field away. A muggle had just been admitted to St Mungo’s, suspected to have suffered from torture by a Death Eater. Draco felt hopeful that the Death Eater in question was Dolohov and he was still in the vicinity.

A flash of movement in the corner of his binoculars and Draco was on high alert. A pigeon perched itself on the ledge of the window to confirm it’s presence. A false alarm and disappointment settled in. The balls of his feet ached as he had stood here all morning waiting for some sign of magic or movement. Still, he waited until the sun was no longer high in the sky. 

His hands began to tremble again and his stomach felt nauseated with hunger. The hunter pulled out the small bottle of silver potion and took a small drop. It took away the ache and the feelings of discomfort. Draco thought he could probably continue his pursuit for a few more hours. With renewed vigour, he stared down his binoculars again and carefully watched the warehouse until the sun’s day had finished and the moon took over in substitution. 

* * *

“Stop!” The high-pitched screams pierced his ears. 

“No!” The wailing was filled with more anguish than Draco had encountered in a long time. He couldn’t move, frozen in place to witness the scene in front of him.

Two small children on the floor blubbered with tears and snot running down their faces, staring back at him. He didn’t know their names but he would never forget their faces. Over them, standing with indifference to their pain, was Dolohov. His face contorted into disgust at their helplessness. 

“Muggle children are pathetic.” The Death Eater spat at them before pointing his wand, a twisted spiky instrument.

“Crucio!”

Draco’s throat gave a wretched scream to try stop their misery. The small bodies contorted into odd angles on the dirt floor and Draco wanted  _ anything _ to make this stop.

Bolting upright, his screams echoed off the walls of his bedroom. Wide-eyed he looked around and found himself, yet again, in his bedroom. No Dolohov, no tortured Muggle children. 

Panting and shaking with intense fear, Draco cradled his own face in his hands. The images of those children weren’t real, but they were once. He witnessed their eventual death and they had returned to haunt him. 

Finally he reached for the familiar bottle of diamonds, sapphires and rubies, before taking another drop of it’s contents to allow himself to return to slumber.

* * *

Perhaps he felt nervous or extremely rushed after a long day looking for Dolohov but Draco was sick to his stomach. To the point he might throw up what little food he ate for lunch. At his Manor before Draco’s nine o’clock appointment, he pulled out the pretty bottle of silvery potion and took a drop to settle himself.

The Nightingale potion soothed him instantly and bolstered him enough to take hold of the hamper basket his house elf prepared and the pocket watch before being transported to the clinic, where Hermione was arranging her long needles.

“Good evening. How are you feeling tonight? What have you done to my bench?” Hermione asked once she looked up to see a tablecloth laid table where Draco was unloading his picnic basket. 

“I’m serving dinner of course.” He continued to place two sets of silver cutlery over perfectly folded napkins.

“Malfoy! This is a medical clinic, not a restaurant.” The witch moved closer to the table and Draco took it as an opportunity to conjure a chair which nudged into the back of her knees to sit. He also placed a sticking charm to the chair, removing her ability to get up.

“But all this food will go to waste if we don’t eat it now.” He finished lighting a candelabra and sat down.

“You are here for a medical check-up not a social event.” Draco thought she looked quite amusing when flustered with pink stains on her cheeks.

“Bread? Surely my good health can wait until after we’ve eaten.” He offered her a warm slice of bread and the wine bottle magically decanted it’s contents into the two glasses.

“You’re supposed to be reducing your alcohol intake.” The witch criticised, her arms folded in annoyance.

“You must try one of these olives. Surely a small glass with my good and virtuous healer wouldn’t hurt.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Draco took it as an opportunity to pop a ripe olive past her rosy lips and tilted her chin to close them. He smirked back at her glaring brown eyes of annoyance, but still caught the almost inaudible sigh of satisfaction that came from her. 

“Delicious aren’t they? The truffle vol-au-vents are even better.” He said as he placed a delicate grey morsel onto her plate. Hermione looked suspiciously at the food.

“If you insist on making me eat, you may as well answer my questions then.” She waved her wand and a quill and roll of parchment floated towards her, ready to transcribe.

“So long as you eat dinner with me, I’ll answer anything you want.” Draco took a bite of some food on his own plate. Clearing her throat, Hermione glanced at her notes. 

“Have you been experiencing any aches or pain in your heart or chest?” Tentatively, she took a bite of food.

“I’m feeling fine. Did you always wanted to be a healer or did you fall into this?”

“I mostly fell into it as St Mungo’s offered free training and there’s a real shortage for healers. Any aches and pains in the rest of your body?” 

Hermione accepted Draco’s offer of charcuterie and cheeses.

“Not much. My back aches by the end of the day but a good night’s sleep helps. How do you fit in all your research and work at St Mungo’s? Have you ever thought about doing something else?”

“When I see something could be better, I just feel compelled to do more about it. No more wine thank you.” Her hand covered the top of her wine glass. “I guess I’d like to write a book one day. Have you noticed if there are changes in the discolouration of veins on your chest?” 

“See for yourself.” Draco began to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt. He felt rather thrilled watching Hermione stare intently as more of his skin from his neck down his chest became exposed to her gaze. He knew there was barely anything there except for some pale white scars courtesy of Harry Potter from sixth year. 

“It does look a lot better.” The witch before him took a sip of wine without moving her gaze, which only made Draco more aroused. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you if you knew anything about the brewer of your potion?”

The quill hovered stilly as Draco thought of his answer.

“It was given to me by a friend. Something about an alchemist or potion master in Africa.”

Draco wiped his clammy hands on his napkin.

“I’ve tried to deconstruct the potion to extract the separate ingredients. Some of it is similar to a Wiggenweld potion, like dittany, flobberworm mucus. But the other ingredients…” Hermione frowned and chewed her lip before she spoke her next words.

“There’s nicotiana, rhoeas, and somniferum, which can have severe side effects when taken too frequently. Also unicorn blood and chimaera bones. Those are illegal ingredients.” 

Draco felt a foreboding sense of worry.

“I think you should get rid of it and stop taking it.” Hermione confessed and Draco’s stomach dropped.

“It’s fine Granger.” With a calm composure, he took a sip of his wine. “It’s not like I use it all the time.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced and it occurred to him that a diversion from the conversation was necessary.

“When was the last time you had dinner with someone Granger?” Curiosity got the better of him and he hoped Granger’s past experiences of candlelit dinners were awful.

“I don’t really remember. As you have guessed, I’m quite busy. The day before, I removed someone’s appendix who was in quite considerable pain. But if I have to remember, it was probably a few months ago. Such an odious bore.”

She took another nibble of her food whilst studying Draco’s face. He wondered if his hair was out of place or if she was trying to diagnose him for something.

“How much longer do you have before you can stop being a fugitive hunter?”

“This is my last mission.” Draco recalled the letter that came the other day, which incentivised him further. “As soon as I catch or kill Dolohov, I can move on with my life.”

“What would that consist of? Lounging around as Master of the Manor?” Her voice was teasing but it left Draco slightly uncomfortable.

“I’ve never really thought of it properly. Since the end of our fifth year in Hogwarts, I’ve just assumed I could die any minute. I never thought about a career, or getting older or any adventures I want to have.” The endless possibilities of the future was something Draco would rather avoid thinking about. “I have always enjoyed runes. Perhaps I will study it in more detail. I’d like to enjoy a quieter pace of life.”

The witch before him nodded in understanding, both having had their fair share of encountering conflict and bloodshed.

“I’d like to settle down with someone. She has to be able to look past whatever I’ve done and wouldn’t mind if we spent time in the Manor library. You should have some more olives.” He spooned some more food onto her plate as he avoided Hermione’s gaze from his confession.

They never spoke about the future again that evening as they stayed on safer topics such as the inventive use of runes and incantations Hermione used for medical observation and it’s practicalities. Draco thought the evening ended remarkably well when he used his pocket watch to return back to the Manor. Only to land outside the gates feeling slightly shaky and a headache coming on. 

Perhaps his healer was right and that too much wine wasn’t good for you, with the basket in one hand and his jewelled bottle of Nightingale potion in the other. He was able to administer a drop before he felt remarkably better again.

  
  



	8. A Cornered Fox

Silver eyes opened in shock, heart-pounding and the rush of blood roared in his ears. No longer was Draco running from the horrors of the war. He lay in his sumptuous bed, clammy, terrified and extremely sick. 

The Master of Malfoy Manor barely made it to the bathroom where he heaved and brought up all remnants of his previous night’s dinner. Draco felt awful, perhaps the recent nightmares were just a sign that he was getting sick. His whole body shook with tremors and he continued to vomit into the toilet bowl. Clutching the edge, his skin flushed against the cool marble floor. When he could do no more than dry heave, Draco crawled back to his nightstand and reached for the jeweled bottle of Nightingale potion. The elaborately set jewels no longer sparkled against the backdrop of a silver shimmer; as the potion has all but been depleted. Draco estimated he may have a dozen or so doses left. 

As much as he would like to take a drop now to be rid of the sickness, he placed the bottle back down on the nightstand. With his wand, he conjured a bucket beside his bed. Curling up in bed, he fell back into troubled sleep.

* * *

Later that morning, the skull-cracking headache didn’t dissipate after Draco had a sip of Wiggenweld potion. With one look at her dear son’s sallow complexion, Narcissa knew something was horribly wrong. 

“You are not to go to work today.” Taking him by the arm, she led him back towards the stairs.

“I’m fine mother. I may have caught a cold.” Draco tried to brush off his mother, but for her to firmly place her hand against his forehead.

“You’re feverish. Go to bed. Dolohov can wait.” There was no fighting with Narcissa and Draco dragged himself back to bed, where he was nursed by house-elves. 

* * *

_ Tap-tappity-tap! _

The rasping sound stirred Draco from his delirious state. 

_ Tap-tap-tap! _

“Rusty!”

He heard his house-elf open the window and a light item was dropped next to his head. A letter or note of some sorts.

“Read the damn thing!” Draco commanded from below the covers.

“Rusty reads message. Dolohov seen with Muggle homeless near Whitechapel. Come now.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice as he bolted upright to reach the full bottle of Wiggenweld potion. He downed the entire contents and ran to the bathroom. Dolohov was within his grasp; he needed to catch him, or better yet - kill him.

Draco washed and donned his disguise as a homeless person before running out of Malfoy Manor, wand in hand, and the bottle of Nightingale in his inner pocket.

* * *

The Hunter landed in a dead-end alley in the heart of East London. The cobbled alley reeked of stale urine amongst festering full bins. Draco swore he caught the glimpse of a rat scurry away into the shadows. Pulling the hood of his jacket over his bright blond hair, he set off for the usual hangouts in Whitechapel. 

Red double-decker buses and black cabs rolled by and Muggles of all kinds walked past him, avoiding his gaze or getting close to him. Even while walking, and despite the cold air, Draco could feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck. He struggled with breathing calmly and his legs began to ache. It felt almost unimaginable for him to do his job right now, but his hunting instincts never gave him a choice.

Tucking himself into a dim doorway, he discreetly pulled out his precious bottle and took two drops of Nightingale. With a deep sigh of relief, Draco felt revived. His head cleared and his eyes dilated with a clarity he had never felt before. Carefully stowing it away, he headed for the amber-lit streets on the prowl for Dolohov. 

Passing countless boarded up shops covered in vandalising graffiti, the streets he wandered became sparser. Only the sporadic off-license with their gaudy neon lights buzzed with any activity. Draco had just scouted an alleyway known as a homeless hangout which he found empty. He was walking to the third place in the area when over in the distance, he heard men talking under one of the railway arches.

“You ne’er let me have more than a drag on the fag!”

“What you gonna do ‘bout it, then?”

“Look Dov, I mean no disrespect!”

“Muffliato.” Draco silenced his boots and casted a disillusionment charm over himself before creeping up towards the arches. The rumble of a train passing overhead made it hard for him to overhear more of the conversation. Wand clutched tightly under his jacket, he turned round the corner and into view.

The Hunter assessed there to be around six men huddled together, one holding the leash of a scraggly large mutt. A can of cider and rolled cigarettes were being passed around. But before Draco could take a closer step towards them, the dog’s ears pricked up and bared its teeth at him. 

The men turned around and there amidst them was Dolohov. His beard bushier and longer, but one could not mistaken his Roman nose and the crazed look in his dark eyes. 

“Imperio! Kill him.”

“Stupefy!”

The dog came barrelling towards Draco ready to tear him to shreds if not for the stunning spell. It fell onto the street with a thunk. All but one of the men approached him, one brandished a knife and another with a broken glass bottle. 

“Petrificus Totalus.”

“Crucio.” 

Hot all-encompassing pain overwhelmed Draco but he tried to keep a hold of his wand. Falling to his knees, his screams of pain echoed off the archway. One of the men kicked him in the ribs and the Hunter’s vision went spotty.

“Expelliarmus.” With all his will, Draco pointed his wand at Dolohov and disarmed the Death Eater before he himself received a punch across his face. In order to reach Dolohov, he needed to be rid of the Muggles. 

Another blow fell on the back of his neck. He could barely think clearly as rage coursed through him. 

“Protego.” A powerful shield popped up, throwing the men across the street. Dolohov scrambled for his own wand in the far corner. It was Draco’s final chance.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

He was too late to cast another Protego on himself as Dolohov grasped his wand, aiming it directly at Draco. A bright crimson jet flew out of the Death Eater’s wand and hit Draco squarely in the torso with a loud crack that mimicked the sound of shattering glass. Dolohov fell to the ground, frozen and invisibly bound. 

With a gasp, Draco clutched his side where the curse hit him. His jacket crunched under his palm. Dragging himself over to Dolohov’s frozen body, he managed to wrap a gold chain from his pocket around the Death Eater’s neck. The chain itself lengthened and coiled itself tightly around the Death Eater. Draco lifted the curse. 

“You disgust me, blood traitor!” Dolohov spat at him. He tried to wiggle and twist in his chains but the thin chain only strengthened and tightened around him. The hand which Draco used to clutch his chest pulled away a shard of glass that dug into his palm. It was no longer than a few inches and it no longer glimmered like it’s former state of an ornate potion bottle.

“This is for what you did to me and that other person.” 

Gripping the shard of glass which stung even more, Draco brought it down squarely in the middle of Dolohov’s chest with all the energy left in him. 

A howling scream reverberated down the arches, as Dolohov tried but couldn’t wiggle out of his Goblin-gold chains.

“You deserved it, bastard!” The captured man spluttered through gritted teeth. “And so did that Mudblood whore of Harry Potter’s.” 

Wiping off the spit that landed on Draco’s face, he felt almost too numb to overreact with Dolohov’s confession. Somewhere deep inside, he knew Hermione had her secrets.

“I look forward to seeing you rot in Azkaban.” 

Dolohov responded with a cackle.“You won’t live to see another day. Call it a parting gift.” 

Before he could elaborate any more, Dolohov was whisked away by the gold chain to the Aurors at the Ministry of Magic.

  
  
  
  



	9. A Winter’s Night

Falling to his knees, Draco stared down at his hand. Small flecks and shards of jewels and glass were embedded into his flesh and blood ran through it in meandering streams. In utter panic, Draco opened his jacket to grasp into his inner pocket. A handful of glass and jewels trickled through his fingers onto the cold ground. The Nightingale potion was gone. 

His heart leapt to his throat, stomach seizing in terror. It couldn’t have been destroyed. The larger pieces of glass were damp to his fingers and without a moment’s thought, Draco shoved in the largest shards of glass in his mouth. Rolling his tongue around the sharp edges to try and siphon any remainder potion from the pieces. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. 

He started to feel dizzy and sat on the ground to spit out the mixture of glass, blood, and spittle. In mad desperation, Draco shoved another handful of glass and gems in his mouth to try to extract even the tiniest hint of the potion. It was a fruitless endeavour. No more did he feel that familiar wave of warmth and clarity that he craved all the time. No longer would he ever feel invincible. He was going to die. 

Collapsing on the ground, limbs splayed and leaden, Draco’s vision darkened as a black figure stood over him, silhouetted by the amber street lamp. The dying Hunter knew this could only be Death. 

“Please.” He begged. “Don’t take me. I’m not ready to die.” 

Death only chuckled at his plea as if he had heard this countless of times.

“I will soon. Only once I’ve watched you take your last breath.” It whispered, his voice sounded in his mind.

Ghostly figures crowded around Draco, all huddled and staring down at him. Some of the faces, he couldn’t recognise. Some he knew, as if from a distant past.

“You bullied me and broke my camera.” Said a young boy. The lion crest on his robes told Draco he was a Gryffindor student he once tormented. 

The opaque face of Charity Burbage, huge fang-shaped gauges marked her face and neck, looked sadly down at him.

“Why didn’t you save me?” She begged.

Draco was speechless with unsuppressed guilt. How could he explain his helplessness during the war? When was he supposed to defy the Dark Lord, with his followers and giant snake around?

More faces and voices spoke to him in a choral barrage.

“Do you rememberer me? You spat upon my face when I starved and begged for food?”

“Why didn’t stop them from torturing and killing me?”

“After the Ministry fired me because of what you said, I hung myself.”

“I bet you don’t even know who I am.”

“A spoilt brat like you should die alone in filth.”

“Please Death. Make them go away.” Draco pleaded desperately. He couldn’t move, as if the weight of his guilt pressed him down. The voices grew louder and louder in terrible wails. The blond cried on the floor, unable to move or chase the ghosts of his past away.

“Always a disappointment Draco. You lived a life unbefitting for a Malfoy.” The familiar and still terrifying features of Lucius Malfoy loomed over him. The old feelings of unrequited yearning and sadness filled Draco’s heart. 

“I did my best. I tried to fix your mistakes.” He whimpered.

“When I take you. You will join me and the souls you’ve wronged in the other realm for all eternity.” Death whispered in his mind, with a tone of satisfaction. 

Draco wept for the futility of his life. The hand closest to his pockets dove in for warmth to spare him from the chilling ghosts of bad deeds. His hand clutched around a small round metal object.

_ The pocketwatch! _ It brought the face of Hermione Granger to mind. He remembered the way those rosy lips smiled at him. He will miss her and her small mannerisms. The way she frowned in concentration, how she ordered him around and her small gasping laugh. Even when no other healer could, Hermione still showed him she cared about him. A deep sense of regret filled Draco and his bloody hand clutched the broken pocketwatch with what little strength he could muster. 

Death bent down to lean over him, the ice cold feeling of its breath brought a shiver across Draco. His life is ending and he will never see Hermione again. He will never tell her how much she means to him. He closed his eyes, tired from staring up into Death’s empty eye sockets of blackness.

  
  



	10. A Dawn Chorus

Apparating to the point of the distress call, Hermione landed under a filthy railway arch.Through the darkness she could already see the ghostly mist huddled around a fallen form with unmistakable blond hair. 

Alert with panic and terror, she ran towards him and through the icy-cold souls. She threw healing spells from her wand, she felt his breath on her finger, light and infrequent. Stripping the front of him of his jacket, Hermione saw the large wound on his chest, brushed off as much fragments of glass to press her hands down onto the opening. 

“You can’t save him.” A voice whispered in her mind. Looking up, she saw Death towering over her.

“Please let me save him.” She pleaded. She can’t let him die. Not today, not ever.

“You can’t keep souls from my realm forever. A price needs to be paid.”

Hermione gazed at Draco, his lips and the front of his clothes drenched in warm blood. At some point in all those weeks she saw him in the small room, he allowed himself to be vulnerable with her - not only his body, but also allowed her to glimpse into his inner thoughts. She wanted to spend more time getting to know his mind, his soul and the rest of his body. It was so inappropriate for her to develop these feelings for her patient, but her heart raced whenever he was around. Only sheer stubborn professionalism kept her sane whenever she was close to him. There was no doubt about it anymore as he lay at Death’s feet, her once tormentor, her former enemy, her patient; now a man she loves.

“Name your price.” She asked the dark figure as she stared into the black abyss of his hollowed eyes as if watching Death process her proposal. The ghosts hovered and brushed against her, perpetually throwing showers of chills all over her. 

“An eye for an eye would be my usual price.” Death finally whispered.“But I would offer for a better bargain for myself. You are to make an unbreakable vow to never save another soul again.”

Hermione felt winded by the shock. To never save another soul again would mean to never heal again. Her research and missions would be for nought. Could she give it all up for Draco? She brought one of his hands to her lips. Kissed it with all the passion she had kept bottled up inside for so long. 

“What is your decision?” Demanded Death, impatient with her indecisiveness. 

Slowly she let go of Draco’s hand and stood up, forcing herself to be strong in her conviction. She had made up her mind.

* * *

Draco wasn’t sure where he was, low arches circled the room and large tables were arranged like the potions classroom in Hogwarts. Except it wasn’t dark or filled with shelves of ingredients. It was brighter and more sparse.

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

The blond turned around sharply to see the once familiar face of his godfather, Severus Snape. Only he wasn’t wearing his usual black robes, they were a dark grey and his hair no longer had the usual greasy sheen.

“Severus.” Draco scanned his surroundings once again.

“Where am I?” He asked his godfather.

“That my boy, is of no relevance. Now sit down so we can talk.” Snape commanded as he gestured to a pair of nearby stools. Draco didn’t understand what, how, or where he was. In fact he understood nothing at all.

“Then why are you here?” 

“Why don’t you answer the same question, Draco.” Snape glowered over his hooked nose. “Squandering the life I have died to save. You petulant child!” 

Draco’s felt defensive, he had outlived his godfather. He worked so hard that he never lived to bear witness.

“I tried to fix what happened to my family!” His voice echoed in the potions classroom.

“At what expense? For a few evil witches and wizards. Think of your mother! She wanted you to move as far away from the Dark Lord as possible. Yet you spent your life, sniffing out rats, drinking, smoking, womanising.” 

Snape’s rage terrified Draco, made him feel small, intimidated, scared.

“What were you thinking Draco? Exercising no caution with an unknown potion. Did you ever paid attention in my lessons?” A worried look crossed Snape’s face, it was the only indication to Draco that his godfather cared. 

‘It didn’t cross my mind. It made me feel invincible and I could do whatever I felt capable of. Nobody cared if I was suffering, especially the Ministry!”

Draco felt bile rise up at the thought of the smug Ministry employees he reported to. They wouldn’t give a toss about what happened to him in the line of duty. Collateral damage for cleaning up the war.

“What about all the other people who cared about you, Draco? Why couldn’t you be less selfish for once?” 

Distant memories of his friends, his mother and a happy face of a witch with caramel brown curls came to mind. Had he lost them all? All because he never gave their needs a second thought.

Draco wanted to well up and cry over his regrets, but his environment faded into darkness. Snape’s voice blended into vocal murmurs and Draco no longer remembered his presence of agony and regret.   
  
  


* * *

Feeling weightless, aimlessly drifting and relaxed. Draco wondered if he was being taken to the other realm.

“When will he wake up?” A soft female voice asked. Draco knew the voice but in his haze, he couldn’t put a face or a name to it.

“Mrs. Malfoy, as I’ve told you before, it could take anytime between a few hours to a few days, even weeks, or months. You need to be patient.”

The voices faded into incomprehensible hushes and the light faded into blackness once again as Draco floated off into nothingness.

* * *

Coolness swept over his temple repeatedly and glided down his face, neck and chest. 

“What are you doing to my son?”

The coolness ceased and Draco felt himself sway. 

“He’s experiencing cold sweats, which is an expected symptom of withdrawal. I felt it necessary to wash him down.”

Were the voices talking about him? Why would they talk about him as if he’s not there?

“I’ve heard you’re no longer a healer. There’s no need for you to touch my son.” 

The other female voice was angry and Draco couldn’t understand why they were so angry. 

“I may have resigned but I was your son’s healer.”

Metal scraped and grated his ears in a shivering screech. Splashes of water trickled and once again a soothing coolness swept over Draco. 

“And I still am his mother. Leave right now.”

The voices and all other sounds faded into swirling swooshes and Draco thought of nothing else.

* * *

“You better wake up soon. I love you but I can’t stand your mother right now.” 

Draco wondered who it was that this melodic voice belonged to. She sang to his core and relaxed his soul. A warmth enveloped him and urged him to open his eyes to see who could speak with such dulcet tones.

Everything around him was dimly lit but for a few lamps. He laid in a bed he didn’t recognise. Instinctively he tried to stretch but his hand was held tightly in someone else’s.

“You’re awake.” Hermione gasped in surprise. Her hand still clutching his.

In the glow of the candlelight, the blond was reminded of how her riotous curls ringed around her face like a golden halo. Everything that he wanted to live for was here.

“You came for me.” He croaked, his throat hoarse from lack of use.

“Of course I did, you fool.” Finally Hermione let go of his hand, and hurriedly poured some water for him.

“Drink this slowly.” The witch offered it to him with a straw, that he sipped through. Draco hadn’t recognised his thirst at once, now drank the refreshing water with relish. When it was emptied, Hermione placed the glass to the side, before waving her wand around him. Draco assumed was to examine his body, like all those appointments before.

“Dolohov killed me. I was dying.” His recollections were hazy, dark, and horrifying.

“You didn’t die. Well, almost. I managed to heal you.” Draco noted how her eyes focused on the rest of him while avoiding his gaze. His confusion only deepened.

“I thought I met Death himself.” Surely the looming figure of Death wasn’t a figment of his imagination?

“Yes you did and so did I. We came to a private agreement.” 

Guilt flooded him. It washed away any sense of delight of Hermione’s presence. She had saved him from the brink of Death’s clutches. Even after all the terrible deeds he committed against her, against Muggleborns like her. The way he ignored her advice and acted in direct contrast to all the care she had spent on him. Draco was unworthy.

“How can I ever thank you for what you did? Can you forgive me for everything I have done wrong?” 

Draco reached for her hands, the hands that had lovingly nursed him to good health, only for him to destroy again. How can he repent for his wrongdoings? He closed his eyes and brought her hands to his lips in prayer. 

“Draco, listen to me. There’s nothing to forgive. You made mistakes and you have your whole life ahead of you. Live it meaningfully, explore and try not serve some Dark Lord or pay for penance.” 

A shuddering sob reverberated through him. Tears streamed down Draco’s face, with relief, joy, and amazement. He stared through glassy eyes into her warm chocolate ones. Her rosy lips stretched into a small smile.

“Besides, you trusted me to perform heart surgery on you! Even St Mungo’s never allowed me to do that on anyone else.” 

Her joke was supposed to comfort, but it only gave Draco another thing to love about Hermione Granger.

“You can have my entire heart if you like.” Her still clutched hands were placed onto his chest, where he felt his heart, the once feeble poisoned heart, beating strong and resolute. 

“Take it. Love me or don’t love me. It’s yours to have. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Words fell from his lips before Draco registered what he had said and, gazing at Hermione’s shocked face, made him doubt everything he felt. Before he could take it all back, rosy lips pressed firmly against his. 

Should Death return and sweep Draco away from Hermione’s embrace, he would have died with, what he considered, his very own happy ending.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading, analysing and writing from this fairytale has been an incredible journey. As my first ever fest entry, I wanted to do my best. However I cannot finish without giving credit to Tridogmom who would listen to any crazy ideas I threw at her, for her being a Master Beta and finally for being a great friend.
> 
> I'd also like to thank TheMourningMadam for hosting a fantastic fest and creating a supportive group of writers share the experience with. I shall go back to my WIP and plunnies feeling revitalised. 
> 
> Finally I'd like to thank you lovely readers for reading, sending kudos and leaving incredible reviews.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta Tridogmom for her patience, insights, and encouragement.  
Please read her entry for the Once Upon A Time fest.


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